


Pirates

by larryistheworld



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 172,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryistheworld/pseuds/larryistheworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirates and Nobles: this very game gives a new definition to every witch and wizard. Murder doesn't come with regret, fighting doesn't come without scars, and hate treads a fine line with lust, not love. This very game was invented for inner house unity. To be honest, the murdering and hanging doesn't really help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

_**Flash Forward:**_  
 _It’s not a dream Granger!_  A voice said in her head.  _You’ve done it!_  
Hermione grinned and ran to the chest, observing its full beauty.   
  
It was a chest which was engraved with silver, gold, and bronze. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and a large assortment of other jewels were set into the precious metals, in an almost fantastical design. The wood on which the designs were set in was almost black, polished so much that it could put the king’s table to shame!   
  
Then there was the lock. Hermione’s brows furrowed.   
  
It was no ordinary lock. Though it was the only hole on the chest, it did not have the customary shape for which a standard key could fit in. Hermione leaned in closer, to see that it wasn’t a hole at all. It was an indent, in which a small circular object had to fit in.   
  
“It’s ingenious! Incredible!” she said in awe. Her fingers traced the depressed opening.   
  
She stood up and shook her head to herself. She knew what she had to do. And it wasn’t going to be easy.   
  
She went over and walked to the only opening out of the cave. She needed to get out, but questions swirled in her mind. She closed her eyes, thinking,  _hard._    
  
“Well, well. What have we here?”   
  
Hermione whirled around to the voice, the light shining from the opening of the cave behind her making her seem like a silhouette. She gasped. _Merlin! I forgot all about Malfoy!_  
  
Hermione drew her cutlass, her empty musket case told her that she had lost it on the way here. His empty one told her the same as well. The sound of a second cutlass being drawn cut the air and sent a shiver down Hermione’s spine.   
  
Draco smirked when he saw her draw her sword. “You actually know how to use that, Granger? Should I be impressed?”   
  
Hermione stepped away from the entrance of the cave and to the wall nearby it, joining his movement in a circle around the center ground of the abode of the treasure.   
  
“Scared, Malfoy? But wow, you can actually form coherent sentences? With you being a ferret. Hmmm. Should _I_  be the one impressed?” she countered easily, one foot stepping over the other. Her heart was about to beat out of her chest, but then she remembered. This is the scum that has treated me like the dirt on his shoes for the past six years!!! Her hatred slowly began working on her pulse, slowing it down, little by little….   
  
Draco sneered. “I got turned into a ferret in three years ago! It’s sad that you have to go that far back to find insults to throw at me.”   
  
“But my dear little ferret, you looked so good as one!” Hermione said, voice overly sweet. “Shall we dance?” she said, bowing, almost mocking. It was about time she put the little snake back into the hole where he belonged.   
  
“The tango, or the salsa?” Draco stated, advancing towards her. “I find the waltz is  _terribly_  boring.” he conceded, the left corner of his lips twitching as if it wanted to smile. Too bad his big smirk got in the way. “Shall we?” he asked, bowing.   
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed at his lighthearted tone. “What do you want?” Her tone changed into a stone cold grey- threatening to freeze the air around her.   
  
Draco looked her dead in the eyes, his lips falling into all seriousness- the twitch had disappeared. His next words, Hermione would remember for the rest of her life.   
  
“I want you.”   
  
Hermione stumbled for a moment, his statement throwing her completely off guard.   
  
Suddenly, Draco chose his moment to lunge at her, his cutlass cutting through the air. Hermione dodged it at the last second, but not before the blade cut through her shirt. She gasped, trying to retain her footage. She got into a defensive position, and blocked his second attack, her arm instantly screaming in protest.   
  
“Ah! So you do know how to tango! Lets just see how well, shall we?” Draco said, flicking his sword at her again. Hermione fended him off, trying to get off of the defensive. Instantly, she measured his strengths and his weaknesses. Her face went grim, as she fenced off another blow, this time to her stomach.   
  
“I’m well off enough,  _Malfoy.”_  she said, gritting the words out of her mouth, doing her best to focus on their dancing swords.   
  
His style was unlike any that she had ever fought. It was as if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if her were one with his sword. Hermione narrowed her eyes.   
  
“Sure you are.” he conceded, taking a step forward, and one step back, parrying with her. She didn’t comment, sensing that he had more to say.   
  
“ You have two friends who see you as a boy,” he said casually, cross-stepping and causing Hermione to twirl around with him, their blades sparked with the force “Your hair looks like a pygmy puff when it’s humid,” he paused as Hermione’s sword moved in and cut a hole into his shirt, causing him to leap back, yet he still continued “You’re an insufferable know it all, but the real cherry on top of the ice cream is,” he said, his sword capturing hers and forcing her sword to meet hilt to hilt with his, their faces only two blades’ width apart, “You’re nothing but a poor, pathetic Mudblood.” he whispered.   
  
Time stopped. The world quit moving. All you could hear was their labored breathing. Hermione’s eyes narrowed, but she wouldn’t let herself be the first to blink.   
  
Draco looked into her fierce honey brown eyes. He could see the golden flakes that were scattered in her irises, he was that close. He felt her knuckles brush against his as she held her sword to match his force. He smirked. “What, no smart retort Granger? What’s the world coming too?”   
  
“An end for you and a victory for me.” she whispered fiercely into the air. She wondered for a brief second, how in bloody hell she got in this mess in the first place. It took her a moment to remember, and then she cursed under her breath. The whole bloody game, and the whole bloody letter.   
  
She gritted her teeth, and tried to banish the thought. She had to be   _focused._  She took a second to gather her wits, and then broke her sword from Draco's. She was going to bloody win this game.   
  
She would not entertain any other options.   
  
  


* * *

_  
  
  
_ **Pirates-CHAPTER 1: The Beginning**   
  
  
_Dear Student,_   
  
_I am pleased to inform you that this year we will be holding a series of rather interesting events and no real schooling shall be taking place, and your seventh year education has been postponed for a year. The 1-4 years are staying at home this year, and all 5-7 years are invited. Due to recent events, such as the death of the man who was named Voldemort, this is taking place. Parents felt that they needed to bond with their children for a time, but for you older ones, we are arranging some fascinating proceedings. The supply list is very limited this year, but if you are coming, please bring all the items listed. Thank you so much for your cooperation._   
_  
Supply List: _   
  
_A trinket that represents you- can not be any bigger than a snitch:Must have your initials engraved on the item of interest._   
  
_Everyday wear clothes- you’ll be needing these for the first week or so._   
  
_1 compass  
1 wand case  
Items of Hygiene_   
  
_There are no uniforms this year- at least for the moment, please just show up in your ordinary everyday clothes._   
  
_That is all. Thank you so much for your cooperation._   
  
_For all those who wished to be head girl and head boy, there will be no such station this year, due to the course of events that we have planned. Thank you for understanding._   
  
_Sincerely,_   
  
_Minerva McGonagall_ _  
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
  
  
_

* * *

_  
  
  
_It was raining. A full blown storm was unleashing its fury over the burrow. Hermione was reading the soggy letter that had just arrived by owl, which was laying on her desk by the window. She had several candles lit in order to see the smudged words. _You think they would charm the letters to repel rain._  She shook her head, re-reading the piece of paper.  
  
Hermione puzzled over the letter, yet did not question anything that was written. A wave of disappointment had washed over her when hearing the news about head boy and head girl, but this seemingly interesting course of events that had apparently been planned intrigued her.  
  
Not very much had been interesting since the Final Battle has commenced. As often it is in fairy tale stories, Good won over Evil. Harry fulfilled the prophecy, and had killed Lord Voldemort. It was easy to state it that way, but actually  _being_  there, was totally different. Hermione didn’t know if one moment, she would live, or if in the next moment, she would die. Hexes were flying through the air, helter skelter…  
  
Hermione ran across the already trampled grass of the Hogwarts grounds, dodging men in silver masks, deflecting curses flung her way. One of them even sizzled her hair. Hermione felt the magic pulsing in the air around her. Still, she ran, away from evil, only to discover she was running towards evil. She simply couldn’t win.  
  
Her bushy brown hair had wrestled itself out of its hair-tie, and was now flying about her face in rough, sweaty strands.  
  
Hermione wasn’t by any means beautiful. Her teeth were straight, but only since fourth year, when Draco’s cretins had decided to make her teet as long as a beavers. Later, in the hospital wing, Madam Promfry had asked Hermione, while spelling her teeth smaller, when to stop. Hermione had waited until her teeth were perfectly straight, and then said to stop. The nurse had looked dubiously at her, but Hermione had just smiled her clever smile, and asked permission to leave.  
  
Her complexion, however, was clear, and luckily unmarked by teenage puberty. She thought it was her best feature. Her eye-brows were slightly bushy, and her eyes, she was told, were slightly too big for her face. Her nose was a genuine button nose, and seemed to small for her face.  
  
She was Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired know-it-all, and she was fleeing and running from  _and to_ danger at the same time. She sent hexes flying at anyone in a cloak, or a mask, or looked remotely evil to her. In that battle field, she couldn't tell who was good or bad. She could only look out for herself.  
  
The moon shone from above, making the whole scene far more sinister. Everything had been planned: Draco had succeeded in getting the Death Eaters inside the castle. Snape had killed Dumbledore. The war was upon them in a matter of minutes.  
  
They had nothing that they could do but act. And that’s what Hermione Granger, the fearless Gryffindor, did.  
  
She had been separated from Harry and Ron when a circle of Death Eaters misted into existence around them. The began throwing hexes right away, a triangle of truth. Slowly for them, quickly in reality, they had paired themselves off with the Death Eaters and began hacking their way through their defenses.  
  
Harry kept telling them to run, to save themselves, but he knew that his friends would never run. They didn’t.  
  
Hermione ran by Lucius Malfoy, who sneered at her, and shot a purple beam her way. She deflected it simply, and threw a non-verbal spell. It had happened in a moment. Instead of looking at her, he was looking over her shoulder, and the spell hit him right in the chest.  
  
Hermione had immobilized him. He was frozen on the ground. Hermione refused to look over her shoulder and placed a personalization spell on him, so that no one could unfreeze him. His eyes glared at her. Hermione looked at him, hate written into ever pore of her face. “I would say I was sorry, but I don’t think I will,” she had said to the man, and then spun around. What she saw made her mouth draw open, and her already large brown eyes open even more so.  
  
Harry and Voldemort were dueling. This wasn’t just any type of duel. They were encased in a golden globe, and it seemed that Voldemort was winning. Harry fell to the ground, scrambling, trying to get up. Hermione could see the fierce determination in his eyes, in his very stance. Harry threw a spell that caused the whole globe to flair red.  
  
Hermione quickly jumped into action when Voldemort called the grass to his command. Blades of grass flew up into the sky and aimed for Harry, like miniature daggers. Hermione grimaced,  _blades_  of grass.  _That dark wizard has one screwed up imagination._  
She threw a spell at the blades, turning them into flying roses. “Like your funeral flowers,  _my Lord_?” Hermione half spat , half gasped, as she started running up to the hill to help Harry out. Hermione saw Ron running up from the other side of the hill. The traingle of truth was coming together once again.  
  
“Well, well, a mud-blood has joined our little duel, Harry. Perhaps I should get rid of her first!” Voldemort had sneered, pointing his wand at Hermione. Suddenly she was frozen. Then she knew precisely what was happening. She wouldn’t even be able to say anything before the green light hit her. He was in her mind, and he was forcing her to stand still.  
  
But before he could ever hit her with the spell, Harry had acted. He summed a spell that was flying across the field, an A _vada Kedevra_ to be exact, and had thrust the captured beam at Voldemort.  
  
Voldemort had died, trying to fulfill his purpose: Killing Muggleborns. Screams of pain flew from the mouths of Death Eaters, the Dark Marks on their arms writhing in fury. Their screams were amplified by the magic pulsating in the air.  
  
Harry had collapsed on the ground, Hermione and Ron beside him. Ron was injured, his arms looking as if they were Sectumsempra’d only moment’s before. Hermione had a bruise blossoming above her left eye, and Harry had passed out.  
  
Shortly after, all the Death Eaters, who were immobilized during their bouts of pain, were rounded up and sent to Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy included.  
  
Three hours later, all had been administered the Dementors Kiss. Only one boy had escaped this experience. Draco Malfoy had not received the Dark Mark. His initiation was supposed to be the next night, but not one person could prove anything.  
  
The most shocking thing was, was that Dumbledore had motioned Draco in his will, and announced, that as his dying wish, the boy was not to go to Azkaban.  
  
To the fury of many Order members, and the rising anger of the Golden Trio, Draco slithered away unscathed, unlike the rest of his Slytherin friends.  
  
After all of the funerals of  deceased Order members, Hermione, Harry, and Ron had retreated back to the Burrow for the summer. This year, unlike years before, was quite, brooding, and a summer to reflect.  
  
So that’s what they did. They sat together, shared a few laughs. Hermione even got on a broom-stick, to every-one’s surprise. To the rest of the world, they seemed like typical teenagers from afar, laughing while life threw obstacles into their paths. Had any of the observers come closer, they would have been frozen to the core to see their eyes, full of wisdom, regrets, and things that should have never been seen by human eyes.  
  
They were not the only ones who had those eyes…   
  
It just happened, that the other adolescence who was the owner of such a pair was in the same country…  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
It had been raining for sometime now. A sky of clouds met a layer of black umbrellas in the backyard of a huge mansion, called the Malfoy Manor. Lightning flashed in the sky,and the angry thunder drowned out the words of the wizard who was praying to Merlin to grant a safe passage to the underworld for the deceased man, who’s soul had been sucked out by a Dementor.  
  
It was a miracle that Draco could even get his fathers body from Azkaban. There had to be  _some_  perks to being a Malfoy, after all.  
  
Draco had looked at the stone under which he father lay with a detached expression.  _Here lies the man who never loved anyone._ He had thought to himself. The only people there were the wives and children of Death Eaters, and their pure-blood friends and children. Almost everyone in the vicinity was related to the man with no heart- seeing as he was a pureblood. Incest was quite common among their kind.  Narcissa had cried silently beside her son, painting a picture of utter sorrow. Draco mearly stood quietly, hiding his complete hate for a father who never cared to know his son…  
  
The young Malfoy shook away the memories and re-read the letter from Hogwarts, the place that he liked to call home. A place where he was free…Well, freer than he was at this place called the Malfoy Manor. Yet, instead of puzzling over the contents of the letter, he simply packed what was asked.  
  
And so, another tale begins to emerge…one unexpected…and one completely off the course of the wizarding life…  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
The scarlet train whistled merrily, beckoning it’s young passengers to come aboard. Hermione pushed through the brick-wall onto Platform 9 ¾. It seemed light years away when she was first here, standing in awe. She didn’t admire anymore. All she wanted to do was get out of the throng of pushing, bumping people and get on the blasted train. With no warning, someone plowed into Hermione, sending her to the ground. She grit her teeth as she felt the skin on her palm get shredded.  
  
“ Oh! Sorry, can I help-- oh  _Merlin_ , sorry Hermione!”   
  
Hermione gave her unhurt hand to Harry, who righted her, and dusted off her shoulders, in a brotherly manner. “You OK?” he asked, green eyes concerned.  
  
Hermione glanced at him and brushed his shoulder off, quietly. “I’m fine. You?”  
  
“Never better!” Ron grinned, coming up from behind Harry. Dwarfing the Boy-Who-Lived, really. Hermione grinned. Her friends were back.  
  
Harry grinned at Hermione. “I’ll just go and save us a compartment. I’ll memo you where I am,” Harry said, before disappearing, dragging Ron with him, into the crowd.  
  
A memo was a charmed sheet of paper, with a message; a less oragamic version of the paper crane that Draco sent to Harry in his third year.  
  
Hermione ran a hand through her still, bushy hair and straightened her jeans and t-shirt. Nothing special. She bent down to pick up her books when a shadow fell over her.  
  
“Well lookie here, is that the one, the only, the Mudblood Granger?” a voice drawled dramatically, from just above from her. “Where’s your two brainless bodyguards? I’ve been meaning to talk to Scarhead.”  
  
“Well bless my soul, let me guess. Could that be the boy-turned-ferret?” she stood up and whirled around, fake astonishment masking her face. She gasped and put a hand to her heart in a dramatic movement.   
  
In the next, her eyes were narrowed with hate. “Leave me the hell alone.I don't have any ferret treats for you today.” She turned back around, set her things back in her pack and stalked to the scarlet train, which whistled merrily and drowned out Draco’s comeback.   
 _  
Brilliant._  Hermione thought as she mentally thanked the train for it’s timely interruption. She looked back over at the blonde-haired boy. “I’d love to stay and chat, Malfoy, but I have more important things to do than talk to walking scum.” She sneered at his smirking, calm face, as clouds of smoke twirled above, and stalked to the scarlet train. She put her foot to get on.   
  
Little did she know, that it was the first step to a completely bizarre adventure.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
The train ride was absolutely uneventful. Hermione sat there for the two hour trip and just re-read Hogwarts-A History for the 237th time, while Ron and Harry talked about the ban of Quidditch, and the mysterious event that was coming up. Hermione occasionally put in her two cents, but other than that, she just kept reading.   
  
She had just finished mentally noting the last chapter when train began to slow down. She smiled anxiously stood up and looked to the opposite side of the compartment as Harry and Ron changed their robes. When she was told that she could turn back around, to face the now fully clothed bots, she went to get her robes, when her entire trunk fell from the compartment above her. She groaned as all of her school supplies and clothes fell out of the trunk. Harry and Ron instantly crouched down to help.  
  
“No, it’s ok. I’ve got it,” Hermione said, frustrated with her apparent clumsiness, “You two go on ahead. I don’t want you to be late.”  
  
Harry looked at her, with a sympathetic smile in her eye. “You sure?”  
  
Hermione nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she assured them. They waved their goodbyes, and left.  
  
Hermione blew the hair out of her eyes in an angry manner, and re-packed her trunk. Books on the left side, clothes on the right, and everything else in the center. In less than three minutes, she had finished packing her trunk, and had righted her robes. She quickly shrank her trunk and put it in her robes’ pocket.  _I have to save those house elves the work._  Hermione thought. She opened the door, but her foot caught the carpet, and she fell into the hallway, knocking over the person in front of her. The figure twisted, wrapping her in his arms and twisted, becoming a human pillow.   
  
Hermione was winded! Before she could say thank you, a drawl that made her skin crawl came from the figure beneath her. Instantly his hands jerked away from her.  
  
“Granger, would you mind getting off of me? I know you’ve been wanting this for a long time, but it’s just going to have to wait.” Draco drawled lazily in her ear,, hands holding her shoulders, pushing her roughly to the side. He reached out a hand to help her, but Hermione didn’t touch it. She picked herself up, and glared into his ice blue eyes. He stepped closer to her. Hermione didn’t more. She wasn’t about to run away from that ferret!  
  
Before she could even gasp, his hands were back on her shoulders, pushing her to the ground again.  
  
 “What was that for?” Hermione snarled, sitting up on the floor, legs out in front of her.  
  
“Tsk, Tsk, Mudblood. When a person of higher social standing than you, well,” he said with an after thought, “When someone better than you offers to help you off the floor, you accept.”  
  
Hermione glared at him, then narrowed her eyes at his outstretched hand. There was nothing good in his, oh-so-nice offer. “I told you once, Malfoy. Unless you have hearing disabilities, I think you got the message the first time.  _Leave me alone.”_  
Hermione wasn’t a fool. She couldn’t take his hand. It was a trap. He knew it, she knew it. Worse was, she knew that he knew that she knew it.  
  
 Hermione turned off her observation that his hand was smooth, the long fingers looked wickedly capable. On his pointer finger was a ring, but before Hermione could even observe what was on it, she realized how close her face was to his hand. Before she knew it, those long supple fingers had grasped her chin, and forced it up into the air. Her eyes met his. He was leaning down, his trademark smirk on his face. Then he did the unbelievable. His hand released her chin, and while looking right into her eyes, he pettily slapped her cheek, forcing her face to the side. “You’ll speak when spoken to, Mudblood. Especially around me. Now pass this message along to Potty boy, would you?” He said, surveying her face. She hadn’t changed at all. Same bookworm. “Tell him to watch his back. I didn’t escape Azkaban for nothing.”  
  
He stepped back to sneer at her some more.  
  
“Oh.. you…you…scum!” Hermione retorted back. She pushed him into the side of the train, swept by with a dramatic air and stalked away from her arch enemy.  
  
 _He’s such a conceited, egotistical, chauvinistic male pig!_ “It’s not over Mudblood! Just you wait!” he called with a mischievous smirk on his lips.  
  
“Yes, I do believe the international ferret games are coming up soon.” Hermione said with a huff of indignation. "We'll see how you fair."   
  
Despite her courage, she did look back at him with a somewhat doubtful look in her eyes, and with a glare to shoot him dead, she was gone.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Hermione walked into the great hall with everyone else and craned her neck for a place to sit.   
  
It was an odd sight, everyone there dressed in their everyday clothes. All the muggleborns in jeans, t-shirts, keds, flip-flops…ect, and the purebloods dressed in suits, silks, short cocktail dresses. It was an interesting view. Her eyes roamed over to the Gryffindor table where she saw Harry and Ron sitting, talking in animated voices. As usual. She walked over to them and sat down.   
  
“Say, where’s Ginny?” Hermione asked, with a puzzled frown after looking around at the table and realizing that the girl wasn‘t there.   
  
Harry’s eyes flashed with longing, and Ron looked slightly sympathetic. “Mum insisted that she stayed home, remember?”   
  
Hermione didn’t. Ginny didn’t even mention it. She didn’t know how she could have missed the red-haired fire-cracker on the train. Hermione did go home for the last month of summer, but  _surely_..   
  
Ron, however, continued with his story. “Ginny locked herself up in her room and wouldn’t come out for a week. But then mum told her that they were going to the Caribbean for several months, so she sucked it up and was helping mum cook this past week. Mum promised her that she‘d be able to come when they’re back from the Caribbean,” he said, but the rest of his words were cut off as food appeared on the table.   
  
Hermione laughed at several jokes that the boys told, but felt a pair of eyes on her. She glanced around , but didn’t see anyone eying their way. She frowned and looked back at her plate, which had been cleared.  _Man. I was really looking forward to those strawberries! Too late now_. She pulled up her eyes from her empty plate to the voice of none other than Minerva McGonagall.   
  
“If I could have your attention please. I have several announcements to make.” The new headmistress, having everyone’s full attention, stood up and began to make her announcements.  
  
“First off, I want to thank you and welcome you to this edited year of Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry. Most of you are probably wondering what in the world is going on. As most of you had read in the letters that I have sent to you, Many parents want time to spend with their children. As Headmistress of Hogwarts, I felt that it was my duty to open the school for those of you who either, had no parents,” or had nowhere to go during this period of parent protectiveness. As you surely have noticed, all students year 1-4 are not here. Some of your fellow students are missing, because they are either at home, or…” she let her voice trail off, not being able to speak the words. “As I was saying, only years 5-7 are here, and you will be taken through a series of events which I think that you will find immensely interesting. I have gone through the will of Albus Dumbledore, and he has left me a book of ideas of what to do if times like this should occur.   
  
‘There will be no houses for the first half of the year. Nor will there be Heads of the School, or prefects. There will be no classes, but for those of you who wish for such further education, please see me after the feast is over, before being moved to your new home. Half of you will be living in miniature towns, molded in the fashion of Hogsmade and towns of the 16th century, others will be on ships.”   
  
A great sea of murmurs broke out through the hall.   
  
“Silence please. The game is called Pirates and Nobles.” She said, her voice filling with disdain. It was apparent that she thought, once again, that the former headmaster was off his knocker. It was only her respect for him that convinced her to do this. The murmurs that were just quieted just moments before by the new Headmistress broke out anxiously amongst the students.   
  
“It is very similar too…..QUIET PLEASE!” she shouted over the whispers. “I will not tell you the rules, and I will enforce classes if this continues.”   
  
The silence became so absolute, that you could hear a feather fall through the air. Now, that Minerva was satisfied, she continued:   
  
“You will each, however, be sorted into a pirate or a noble category. Now understand this, noble ladies, you will be instructed in the ways of etiquette, beauty, and the latest fashions of the era that you will be transported to. Noblemen, you will be instructed in the ways of the sword, and will be doing anything and everything to destroy your opponents: the pirates.   
  
‘Pirates: swordsmanship and cleverness will be expected in excellent form. I will set one teacher on each ship for two weeks, where they will teach you what you need to know. They will teach you the ways of pirates. After two weeks time, they will return to the castle, and will no longer be allowed inside of the game.   
  
‘After you have been sorted, you will separate into your groups. From there you will be separated into 5 pirate groups, and 3 villages/towns. Before I continue on, we will sort you into your category.” she looked pointedly at Professor Snape.   
  
He rose grudgingly and stepped forward with a shiny silver disk in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak, and them seemingly, as if he could not find the words, he shut it. Minerva shot a look at him. “Severus, we are waiting.” He shot a glare at the woman and began his speech.  
  
“This is the Scope of Truth.” he said . All eyes fixed upon the swinging object in his hands. “Each of you will step here. There is no need for names, just come up here, and hold the compass.” He said, repeating himself in a roundabout way. He had never really talked this much with one breath in his whole life. But, his voice stayed completely monotone and dangerous. He ignored a greasy lock of hair that fell into his eyes and continued.   
  
“I will watch over your shoulder, and tell you where you have been sorted.”   
  
Harry shuddered. “I don’t think I’ll like that part.” he said, nudging Ron. Ron returned his look of disgust. Hermione simply rolled her eyes.   
  
“I also think that-”   
  
Harry’s words were cut short when Professor Snape shot a glare at him.   
  
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I will also write down your name and where you were placed and announce it to the hall. Now hear this,” he continued with a with his same-pitch voice, “The scope solely sorts your type of character, and where it thinks you will do better. It might even sort you at random, for the origins of this creation are not known. It will not speak- it’s needle will either point to the crossbones, or it will point to the cutlass. There are a number of other symbols on the scope, a crown, a dress, and an assortment of others. The hand will stop at several of them, then, I will tell you what you are to my knowledge of these symbols.   
  
‘The headmistress has dosed me with a bit of Viraterserum- not,” he stopped dangerously, discouraging any murmurs that might have surfaced, “because I can’t be trusted. Only solely for the reason that some of you would get the notion that I am sorting you to my delight. The scope will divide you evenly. I have given the number, so some of you may be sorted out of your will. Please, do not, I repeat, do NOT complain after you have been sorted. The headmistress will address this matter once you have been sorted.”   
  
Professor Snape stepped back and gave the hall back to Headmistress McGonagall.   
  
“Now if you would all please stand up from your seats!” There was a moment of rustling clothes, tennis shoes squeaking on the floor, silks rustling with the skin of their owners…   
  
“Moventeniorum!”   
  
With a flick of Minerva McGonagall’s wrist, all the tables and benches were at the sides of the room, leaving the whole center of the hall an open space, as if there were about to be a dance. “Accio Stool!” she summoned, standing in the center of the space. The stool gracefully flew through the air and landed right in front of her. “Now students, if you would please gather in a one file circle around the stool, only then may Professor Snape continue with the sorting. Please be swift, the sorting will take some time, and we have yet to separate you into groups.” She clapped her hands twice and went to make sure no one caused any trouble.   
  
And all of the sudden, the room went dark. A golden light shone from seemingly a source above, and illuminated the stool.   
  
All of the students quickly assembled in the desired shape, Hermione flanked by Harry and Ron, as usual. She looked up at Harry and whispered. “What do you think you’ll be?”   
  
Harry’s eyes twinkled. “I think I’d be a Pirate. What about you eh, Ron?”   
  
Ron smiled. “I think I’d like to be a Pirate too,” and then there was silence.   
  
Hermione frowned. I _don’t know what I want to be. Thanks for asking though._  
  
She looked around helplessly at all the other uncertain faces, when her eyes met with a pair of oh-so-stormy-cold grey eyes. Hermione glanced at Harry, who wasn’t even paying attention.  _I will not be his new play toy !_ His pale blond hair shone lightly by an off cast of the beam. He almost looked like an angel.  _If it weren’t for that trademark smirk of his…_  
  
Yes, he was smirking at her. Hermione rolled her eyes. And the fact that his head was so far up his behind, that he couldn’t see straight…   
  
After looking about, to make sure no one was watching him, he smirked again and mouthed to her. “Noblewoman!”   
  
Yup. He  _definitely_ wasn’t talking to Harry.   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Stable boy!”   
  
His smirk curled into a sneer, then looked away. He glanced away from Harry, who had just caught his glance. It wasn’t fair to say that Draco was afraid, he just didn’t want to talk to hi, be near him… But if the opportunity arose, then by all means. Let’s make fun of the Scarhead.   
  
No one made a move to be first. Hermione was about to step forward when a voice, literally, came from right beside her.   
  
“Mr. Weasley. Why don’t you be first?” Ron jumped in the air as the voice spoke from behind him. Minerva pushed him into the circle of light. “Off you go now.”   
  
Ron grimaced as he edged toward Professor Snape and the stool.   
  
“All 7th years, please take one step forward, we will sort you first, after Mr. Weasley, of course.” she stated.   
  
The students did immediately as she had commanded.   
  
Everyone watched as Ron sat onto the stool. He shifted uncomfortably, as if he could escape all of the eyes that were resting on his frame.   
  
Professor Snape handed him the scope. “You will hold the scope in your hand until it falls onto either the cutlass, or the crossbones.“ The Professor said, so that everyone could hear.   
  
He then leaned closer to Ron, and added, “Don’t. Break. It.”   
  
Ron glared at the teacher then turned his eyes on the scope in his hands. He peered at the needle as it began it’s journey from a shiny medal, to a castle, to the cutlass. Professor Snape chuckled, apparently amused. Except it was more of a “Mwahaha” seeing as Severus Snape would never chuckle. “Nobleman-General.. If you don’t know what that is Mr. Weasley, it’s..”   
  
“I know what it means!” he said indignantly. “Where do I go now?” he asked to the new Headmistress.   
  
She pointed to the front of the hall, towards the teachers table. Ron nodded his thanks and leaned against the table, watching as some of the other 7th years got sorted. Cho Chang was sorted as a Noblewoman, lady of the house, the Patil twins were also noblewomen. The only thing that was curious, was that all the girls that were sorted so far became noble women.   
  
Pansy slowly walked up to the stool A few moments after she had sat down, Snape’s voice cut the air. “Pirate Captain.”   
  
Pansy smirked and walked over to the opposite side of the hall, as gasps and murmurs breaking about the room. Now Pansy really was pug-faced. But she was like Cleopatra. The way she spoke (when she wasn’t around Draco), made you want to be around her. She was really truly a Slytherin Queen. Another Cleopatra.   
  
Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Mr. Potter, with your delay, it will take another year for the others to be sorted.”   
  
Harry bit back a retort, stepped confidently to the stool, and sat down with dignity. The scope was very quick this time. “Noble.” at this, Harry’s face fell with disappointment. “King.”   
  
A moments silence filled the room. Harry looked up from the scope, slightly confused. Snape’s face was twirled in disgust.   
  
“I’m confused, sir. King?”   
  
The headmistress will explain it all later, Mr. Potter, now go to the nobleman side!”   
  
Harry stood up in a shocked stupor and walked over to the teachers table. He was unaware of Draco’s freezing glare.   
  
He received a pat on the back from Ron. Neville also congratulated Harry, as he was too, a noble-General, along with Seamus.   
  
Draco strutted up to the stool and set himself down with arrogant ease. Hermione observed him with hate. _Look at him. Just sitting there.. He acts like he’s king of the world. I hope you get stable boy, Malfoy. I sure hope you do._  Her thoughts faded away as she looked at his face, peering confusedly at the scope. He still looked the same, after all these years.  _Arrogant, conniving, and… well, good_. Hermione rolled her eyes. Instead she gazed at his long supple fingers, an odd feeling rushing through her body. She shook it off.   
  
“Pirate Captain.”   
  
Hermione’s head shot up in disbelief.   
  
Draco’s blue eyes smirked at her as he got up and walked over to join Pansy. “Noble-Whore!” he mouthed at her, after he saw that Harry wasn’t paying attention to him. Looked like she was his new play-toy. _Yay._  Harry, who could take anything Malfoy threw, was out of reach for the moment. Socially, and physically.   
  
Hermione glared at him, her eye contact only to be broken when she was gently pushed into the circle of light. She gingerly made her way to the stool and sat down. 


	2. The Choice of the Scope

The scope was gently pressed into her hands. She watched the hand in puzzlement, a prickly feeling climbing up her spine- she felt like she was being watched. It was the same feeling that she had gotten in the Great Hall, at dinner.   
  
She dismissed the feeling and kept her concentration on the needle, which, oddly, wouldn’t stop whirring around…   
  
Snape looked down at the compass and smiled. “Nobl-”   
  
“Wait!” Hermione interjected, her eyes rising from the clock for a split second to register a pair of triumphant blue eyes. “The needle hasn’t stopped moving.” she addressed to Professor Snape.   
  
He looked at her, then at the compass. “And so it hasn’t. Carry on.” he sneered.   
  
5 minutes later, it still hadn’t stopped moving. It had landed on the crossbones 3 times, the cutlass 5 times, the boat 2 times, the medal 9 times, the anchor 3 times, and the cross 7 times. P. Snape took it from her hands and pulled out his wand. He murmured a spell, one that Hermione recognized as a choice maker spell. He handed it back to her with her nod of approval. She held it watched as the scope whirred angrily in her hands…   
  
It was a complete waste of five minutes of his life. He gave her the once over. Sure, she was slightly endowed, he could see that from the way her t-shirt settled over her body. She was really a girl, that surprised him.  _Mudbloods were Humans?_  He scoffed.  _Not bloody likely. Some sort of cretin being, maybe, but human. Nah. I bet her blood is mud-colored._  He rolled his eyes. He knew what she was going to be. He smirked.  _A dirty rotten, no good, horrible, ugly, bushy-haired maidserva--_  
  
“Pirate Captain.”   
  
_WHAT!_?!  
  
His eyes flew open in disbelief to Snape’s dubious voice. He watched her as she stood up with a newfound energy, and she began walking.. Straight for him.  _This is not happening_ , Draco thought, his mind in a jumble.  _She can NOT be on the same level as me!_  He couldn’t believe the irony of it all.  _Mudblood Granger, on MY level? No bloody way._  
  
She knew her eyes were shining with challenge. She stood up from the stood and walked to the Pirate side with anticipation and adrenalin. Then, with a change of mind, she walked straight for him…Her arch enemy. “I’m going to win this game Malfoy. Get ready to die.”   
  
“Likewise Mudblood,” he sneered at her, refusing to be intimidated.   
  
“It’s alright to be scared, Malfoy. We both know who’s more clever, so it doesn’t really matter.”  
  
  
He laughed, a laugh that was cruel and calculating. It chilled her to the bone. “Yeah, and that would be me. So why don’t you surrender now, and spare me the trouble?”  
  
Hermione glared at him. “Just you wait till our blades meet _ferret boy_ , I’m going to  _rip you to shre_ ds.” she snarled, her teeth coming into view.  
  
Draco cocked a perfectly groomed eyebrow at her. “Potty and Weasel aren‘t here to protect you Granger. You should just give up now, little lioness. You  _will_  lose, you  _will_ die, and I  _will_  kill you.” he whispered menacingly.  
  
Hermione was almost afraid. Almost. Key word.  
  
“You wish.” she hissed at him.  
  
“I never wish. I  _know_.” he smirked back with an almost charming smile.  
  
She narrowed her eyes and stepped away from him and turned to rest her back on the door of the hall, her thoughts swarming about her.  _I will win this game Malfoy. Just you wait…_  
The ceremony went on for hours… At least, that’s what it felt like. Mercifully, the last name had been called out, and the last person had been assigned. The individuals were split up into groups, and herded in front of the Headmistress to get further instructions.  
  
“Now have all been assigned to your groups, I will tell you the rules. Now listen carefully, I will only say them once, and I am sure that your leaders will be too busy trying to win the game than to repeat the rules to you. The teachers stationed at your ship will have a copy, but be aware, they only have 2 weeks to teach you what you will need to know to survive, so you best listen to me now.”  
  
“The rules are split into 3 categories. One for nobles, one for pirates, and one for all of you. Nobles, please pay attention as I read out your rules.” McGonagall whisked her wand in the air, and three parchments appeared, hovering by her side. One had a blue ribbon, another had a black ribbon, and one had a red ribbon. She reached out for the blue-ribboned parchment, and unrolled it. She then, proceeded to read the rules for the noble class.  
  
“ For all the noble people: the object of your game is to catch the pirates and ‘hang them’. In order to have successfully ‘killed’ them, they must have been taken to the gallows, and had a rope tighten around their neck. You will not actually hang them. These ropes, as a precaution, are non hangable and will not work. The pirate which endures this process will disappear in a blue light and will be appear at Hogwarts. Like so:”  
  
She took her wand and drew in the air, creating a projector of sorts, so that the students could see.  
  
Hermione did her best to refuse the urge to snort when the Headmistress drew a stick man to symbolize the pirate. She watched as the noose tightened, then there was a flash of blue light that blinded nearly the whole room.  
  
The stickman was gone. Some of the students began to murmur amongst themselves.   
  
Minerva closed her eyes in frustration. When she opened them, they were filled with fury. “If you want to play the game, you have to be silent!” She said, her lips disappearing into a thin line. She looked back at the parchment and continued reading.   
  
"Noble ladies- you will learn how to cook, sow, and will be instructed in all the beauty tips- I will teach you, as I have already traveled back into those times and learned. You will also attend dances, and other frivolities. Noble people: Your only objective is to get the pirates. If you capture a pirate, and steal his clue, then you may search for the treasure. King Potter, can issue you to search for pirates if he wishes. Mr. Potter, the King, gets to pardon pirates and he rules all the towns/villages. He will also have a mock wedding to choose a queen. Now, speaking of Pirates…"  
  
Her voice trailed off as she let the scroll that she had just been reading to roll itself back up and re-tie its blue ribbon. The students watched her hand wrap around the black-tied one. The sound of parchment on parchment filled the air.   
  
“Pirates.’ She read, looking to the large group that was seated on the left side of her. "You can kidnap nobles and adopt them into your crew. Same with other pirates that you capture. Yet, You are all against each other, alliances I’m sure will not be made, seeing as the leader who gets the treasure of Miramar will win the game and get the glory.” She paused for a moment, her eyes passed over Draco and Hermione for a moment, and then she resumed. Neither of the students had noticed.   
  
‘For sinking ships- if your ship sinks, stay within 10 meters of it and if you are not abducted by your sinker, you will be transported to my office, where I will re-issue you into the game. The weapons you will have will kill in the game, so be careful. Cannon balls will destroy, but the pieces of material it hits will levitate and fall gently to the ground. Each ship will have a starting amount of treasure to begin with. The more treasure, the more points will be given.   
  
‘No beatings will be allowed, however, you may imprison people until they agree to cooperate. The trinkets that you brought with your initials must be on you at all times, it is my way of calling you back if anything happens at home. They have already been spelled upon, so don’t worry about them. The Pirates’ objective is to get the treasure, and not get hung. If a pirate is hung, he will be ousted out of the game. If a noble gets killed by a pirate, he too, will be ousted out of the game.. “   
  
“ Before I read the last scroll that pertains to all of you, are there any questions?“ She asked in a tone that dared anyone to speak.   
  
No one did.   
  
“Very well then.“ she said, reaching for the red-ribboned scroll. She opened it.   
  
“ For those of you who are medically inclined, the scars that you gain are yours to keep, if you wish to not gain any scars, you must see me or one of the professors, or even Ms. Granger for a body wrap enchantment. If you are killed in the game, I will most likely know how you were killed, but, you are allowed to make a stand to me, and I will decide on whether to re-issue you into the game. Please remember that this is just a game, but it will all be real to you. You can die, and you can get hurt. I will place some characters in the game, such as healers, to heal massive wounds. If you recieve a fatal blow, you will appear at Hogwarts,  _instantly._ ’   
  
She finished and let go of the scroll, which dressed itself and then the trio disappeared.  
  
The Headmistress thought that this idea was ridiculous! She thought that the former headmaster had been slightly off his rocker when he left the book, telling, detailing, what to do. She didn’t want to do it. The only two reason she was were these:  
  
1\. She respected Dumbledore. He was a brilliant man, and therefore, must have  _known_  what he was doing. He usually did.  
  
2\. His idea that it would bring houses together. Minerva wanted this above all. She couldn’t be sure that this would do it.  
  
“ Other than that, I do believe I’ve covered everything. A list of rules will be issued tomorrow morning upon your entrance into the game. Please take your groups and dismiss to your given portals. Thank you, and I will see you tomorrow at 10 in the morning here in the Great Hall. . Make sure you are present with your wand cases, compasses, hygiene products, and anything else you might need for your station if you wish to be issued into the game.”  
  
And so it begins…..  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It was a murky morning. No birds were chirping, an ill omen. Hermione opened her honey eyes groggily, to the decorations of the Ravenclaw girl’s dormitories. She looked at the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room. 9 O’clock. She yawned and stretched out her arms, then noiselessly climbed out of bed, heading for the showers. 5 minutes and a clean body later, Hermione got dressed and shrunk her trunk with all her necessities and put it in her pocket. She grabbed her wand case and walked over to the door to sound the wake-up bell, for the girls.  
  
“Oh Hermione, Turn that blasted thing off.” Susan Bones said loudly. Lisa Freetucker, Daphne Greengrass, and Elandra KettleBlack, woke up with a start.   
  
“I would, but we have an hour to get ready, and only 1 shower that is available for our use.” she replied pointedly.   
  
Susan stood up quickly. “I get the shower first!!!” She flicked her brown, sleep-mushed hair out of her dull, but sparkling brown eyes. “I need it more than you do.” she said to the girl who had gotten up and was racing to the shower as well.  
  
Daphne rounded on her. “Oh no you don’t!”  
  
Susan smiled cheekily and raced to the shower, bare feet slapping the stone floor, racing for the shower. All the sudden she went stiff and fell forward. Daphne stepped over her with a smirk, her wand out, and stepped into the shower room, slamming the door behind her, jerking Elandra from her sleep.  
  
Hermione was positive that her team had the most Slytherins. She had to be careful, and always be watching for signs of a mutiny. She sighed. Daphne was beautiful, with her aristocratic wavy, classic, slight brown hair, and her midnight blue eyes. She was also pureblood, and incredibly clever. She’d be looking to get at Hermione, Hermione was sure of it.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes as she pulled out her newest favorite book,  _'Pirates of the 14th Century.'_  
  
What a creative title. Hermione had thought sarcastically. But she knew nothing about pirates, so she had appointed it as her new favorite topic. She snapped the book shut and left the room, shutting it loudly, immensely happy that she had taken her shower earlier.  
  
She skipped down the steps, and into the common room. She flew across the room and ran up the boy’s stairs. The layout was very similar to the Gryffindor Tower dormitories. She knocked on the door. “Wake up, you sleepy heads!”   
  
Blaise opened the door, his ebony body filling up the doorway. “What do you want, Mudblood?”   
  
Hermione snarled. “Doesn’t that nickname ever get old?”   
  
Blaise smirked. “Nope.”   
  
“Get the boys up, and get down in the common room.” She snarled. “Five minutes.”   
  
She stomped down the stairs, his laughter following her, stalking her. She growled as she walked back to the girl’s room.   
  
Her team was ready in quick time. Hermione smiled at them all when they lined up for inspection.   
  
“Every one has their wand cases? Compasses? Yes? Good.” she finished when they all nodded. “Then lets go!” she said enthusiastically. Once upon entering the great hall, the whole group stopped. In the middle was a great sheet with land and waters, the size of a house, hovering about an inch over the teachers table. Slowly as it faded from wonder, she seated her team down at an empty table and they ate the breakfast that appeared in front of them. Teams trickled into the Hall to eat Breakfast. Once everyone had had their fill, Professor McGonagall stood up.   
  
“Attention everyone!” she said loudly. Silence and anticipation filled the air and the left over food disappeared from the table, its grand departure lost to the lack of attention. “I see that everyone has sat down with their teams, which is very good and less of a hassle for me. But, I must ask for all Pirates to be on the left side of the Hall, and the Nobles to be on the right.” The students stood up to accommodate her wishes. “Now today, you will be creating the world. I will add the isle of Miramar to the globe later when I wish too. Now this land is much smaller, compared to the earth itself. It is about 200 miles to cross from side to side. And- yes, Miss Granger?”   
  
“Is this world round, or flat?”   
  
“It is flat. When your ship goes over the edge, you will find yourself floating in the Great Lake, ship and all. You will then need see me. You will be provided with a map tomorrow. Now for your designing!” She snapped her fingers, and materials appeared on all of the tables. “For privacy, I will magically block of each of the pirate teams from the other pirate teams, and the pirates in general from the nobles. Nobles, you may conspire to form your towns. You have precisely 2 hours and 30 minutes.” The headmistress pulled out her wand.   
  
“Bet your ship is going to be a crappy one!” Draco called out to Hermione.   
  
“I wouldn’t worry about  _my_  ship if I were you, Malfoy," Hermione spat, "You better make yours bloody  _indestructible_ , because you‘re going to _wish_  it was, by the time I‘m through with you.” she called back maliciously over her shoulder. Just as he began his comeback, the walls were put in place.   
  
An odd thought just occurred to Hermione, and her mouth quirked up in the right corner.  _He’s so immature... for a Slytherin._    
  


* * *

  
  
Two jolly ear-splitting hours later….   
  
“It just isn’t right Susan! It doesn’t look like a pirate ship!” Jem complained.   
  
Susan glared at him. “If you don’t like it, don’t watch.”   
  
The group looked at the ship for a moment. It’s cream colored sails wrinkled as if wind were pushing them, the boards a chocolate brown…an overall merry feeling, along with a completely desperate and irritated one encompassed the group.   
  
“I’m with Jem on this one.” Thaddius chimed in. “It‘s making me hungry.” The group gave him an odd look. “What I meant was… umm … It looks like candy. Like a jolly sucker? Yeah. I‘m hungry.”   
  
Silvester rolled his silver eyes dramatically “We just ate breakfast.”   
  
Thaddius narrowed his eyes on the boy with gold hair. “Yeah, but that was about two jolly hours ago, and I’m hungry,  _again._  I have a fast metabolism.”   
  
Susan stepped away from the table and stretched. “As much as I‘m enjoying this display of teenage immaturity, we still have a ship to finish.”   
  
Thaddius smirked. “Don‘t be jealous cause you’re not…” a glare from Hermione silenced him. He continued on quickly. “As I was saying, about the ship, it needs to be more rustic, like so,” he picked up the soccer ball sized ship and pointed his wand at it, envisioning what it should look like. The ship glimmered for a moment, then the ship had scarlet sails, with a darker, rustier wood color. Susan pursed her lips.   
  
“It looks like a gypsy dinghy now..” she muttered. They had been taking turns as to what their ship would look like…for the past 2 hours.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “We’re never going to get anything done if we keep this up!”   
“What an honest liar.” Silvester said. “We have to get it done. Today. Actually, in the next thirty minutes would be great.”   
  
Hermione picked up the ship. “My turn, right?” She asked. Daphne nodded. Hermione noticed that the beautiful Slytherin wasn’t that bad. It was a subject that needed more pursuing.   
  
Hermione peered at the ship, then looked back at her team mates. “We want a light ship- not in color, mind you- but a light one. Am I right?” she asked them. The group nodded hesitantly. “And it needs to be dark in color, like a shadow, yes?” the group nodded just a little more confidently. “And I’m thinking shimmering black sails with precision holes in them would give us a haunting look.” the group nodded furiously now. “So, any other suggestions?” she asked. Silvester looked up at her.   
  
“I think we should have a figurine at the bow of the ship. The very front thing, you know?” he said as he pointed to the front of the ship.   
  
Jem nodded. “Something fearsome. Like a lion maybe?”   
  
“I think I actually agree with you.” Susan said reluctantly.   
  
Hermione looked at the silent guy in the corner. “Are you sure you don’t want a go Zabini?”   
  
Blaise looked at the through black eyes. His black hair fell slightly into the pools of darkness, giving him a hint of mystery. His ebony skin only added to his unique attractiveness. The corner of his lip flew up in a quirky manner. “With you or the ship?”   
  
Hermione narrowed her brown eyes at the Slytherin. “Watch it, kiddo. You  _don‘t_  want to mess with me. I repeat; you  _don‘t_  want to mess with me.”   
  
After finishing her nice threat, which he took without a wince or any signs of fear, which bothered Hermione loads, she surveyed his hard, lidded eyes, then gestured to the jolly dark chocolate ship. “It needs something else. Your approach would be great.”   
  
Blaise shook his head. “Not going to happen, Mudblood.”   
  
_Great. A shadow of Draco Malfoy on my ship. How Brilliant._  Hermione shook her head, slightly irritated with the manner of the Slytherin. She turned back to her team. “Now, everyone point your wand at the ship, and think hard what you want it to look like. “ she instructed, pointing her own at the ship with fervor. “On the count of three, one two, THREE!”   
  
_BOOM!_    
  
The groupies were thrown off their chairs and into the boundaries that had been set up for them. A blinding light filled the space with a ferocious brightness. Then suddenly, as quickly as it had come, it had gone. A simmering noise was coming from the table. The group cautiously got up and looked at the creation perched on the table. 


	3. The Ships

She was, in two words:  _Bloody Brilliant._  
  
The ship was made of sturdy material, making the ship seem heavy, but in all contradiction, it was a very light ship. The color was a dark mahogany. The sails were but a shadow, see through, yet must assuredly there. They shimmered with a golden sheen, worn looking holes causing ripples to cascade with the flutter of the giant pieces of cloth. On the bow of the ship was an wooden lion, fiercely growling at the empty air in its path. Hermione could practically hear the roar that tore through the air.   
  
But all of this, this fairy tale ship and its haunting sails, was daunted by the flag.   
  
Instead of the traditional, and ever so boring jolly roger with the skull and the swords, there was a loin, ferociously roaring, with writhing snakes as the crossbones. The spectacular thing, was that the lion was calm at the moment, and the snakes were shivering in anticipation. It  _moved._    
  
The group stared in awe. Blaise looked up at Hermione, not even dazed. “I think we should call it the _Jolly Lion_ , unless you don’t agree, Granger.”   
  
Susan glared at the Slytherin. “I think I like  _Lioness,_  Captain.”   
  
Jem smiled. “Didn’t someone call you an honest liar earlier?” He said, directing the question to Hermione. As always, he was late into the conversation, thus, seeming to be completely random.   
  
Hermione nodded, perplexed. “Yes, I think it was Silvester, maybe.”   
  
The golden haired boy flicked his hair to the side casually and smiled. “Yeah, It was me. What we gonna call you? Captain 'HL'?   
  
Blaise smirked. “Captain Hell you mean?”   
  
Hermione shot a death look his way. Jem’s eyes opened wide. “Hey- that sounds kinda fearsome. I don’t think Malfoy could come up with a better name than that.”   
  
“Why are we comparing me to Malfoy? He’d dubb himself ‘Captain Wonder Boy’ if he had a choice.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You are _not_  calling me Captain Hell.” she said stubbornly. “Besides,” she continued, “Even though I’m enjoying this completely useless banter, but we are still yet faced with one problem; We still don’t have a name for the ship.”   
  
Daphne spoke without being spoken to. “ _Lioness_. I think that’s what you should call her.” When she saw the unspoken, ‘Why’ in Hermione’s eyes, she explained.   
  
“You’re captain. You’re a Gryffindor. You figure it out.” Daphne snapped, but before giving Hermione a chance to do just that, she rushed in, calmly. “Your flag has a lion on it, the ship is fierce. It demands a good name. A female lion? It’s an impressive front. ”   
  
The crew was shell-shocked. Daphne was  _really_ dangerous, Hermione conceded.   
  
Hermione nodded, “So, all in favor of  _Lioness_?“ Everyone but Blaise raised their hands. She glared at him. He shrugged. Hermione rolled her eyes but finished with a smile. “Then  _Lioness_  it is.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco Malfoy stared at his ship. If that’s what you could call it. “This is  _pathetic._  We have 15 minutes left, and still no ship. I tried to let you all design it, since I am captain and all, and I want to be fair, but could you please agree with me on this one? This is  _pathetic_.”   
  
His group nodded sadly. “So, I think I speak for all of us, when I say that we should let me do the ship, right?"  _You cretins are so stupid!_  
  
Colin looked up at him. “Yes Cap’n. “ the rest of the team nodded in agreement.   
  
 _Finally. Something worth doing,_  he thought as he picked up the now bright red boat with its jolly white sails.  _What is this supposed to be? The Fearsome Cherry of the Sea? Puh-lease._ He focused- something that he could do rather well. He pointed his wand at it and closed his eyes. Before the eyes of his group, the boat began to transform.   
  
He opened his eyes to an amazing ship. The group gasped in awe. Her wood was dark grey-sleek with stars. The sails were a shimmering silver, with a hint of navy blue. On the bow was a cobra, fanned out in aggression. The flag was navy, with a silver serpent sticking out its tongue for all to see. “Well, that should do it, don’t you think?” he asked smugly.   
  
Raven Trapper smiled seductively up at him with her forest green eyes. “What will we call it?  _The Sea’s Lover_?   
  
Draco’s lip turned up. “No,"  _you idiodic wench._ He left that part out. "I think we’ll name it the  _Silent Shadow,_ ” he said with finality. He called the shots here, and he wanted everyone to know it.   
  
  _Watch out Granger. I’m out to get you._  His grey eyes twinkled merrily as he set the ship down. Professor McGonagall walked into the cubicle. “Times up.” she said.   
  
He smirked. “Right on time.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
The ships were put on display. There was a deep maroon one, set like a Chinese pirate ship, its sails nothing like the ones on a regular ship. Instead, they aligned in the same direction with the ship. Her name was The Scarlet Death, and she was to be captained by Gregory Grey, a Ravenclaw.   
  
Another was a jolly chocolate buccaneer ship, but its navy sails flapped fearsomely in non-existent winds. Her name was the Executioner. _Excecutioner? Please._  Draco scoffed. _More like, the Sodding Easter Bunny. Hmph._  
  
Then there was Pansy’s ship. You could tell who had designed it- Pansy herself. The ship was black as midnight. Her green silk sails seemed to have conquered the winds, standing up to them as if they were commanded by the green presence. The black flag waved with a white hourglass smeared onto the cotton.   
  
“Her name is the  _Black Plague_. Isn’t she just lovely Draco?” Pansy smiled seductively at him. He rolled his beautiful eyes and pushed her arm away from him. “I rather like the one with the lion on it.” He said, dismissively. Pansy couldn't take the hint.  
  
“Why thanks, Malfoy, I’m glad you do. I called it the  _Lioness_ , see?” Hermione said as she stood up on the other side of him, smirking.   
  
“That’s my,”  _smirk, don’t use it_. “,name for you, isn’t it?" When Hermione didn't respond, he asked, "Well, which one do you like,  _Mudblood_?”   
  
Hermione shoved the insult away, and surveyed the ships. Of course, hers was her favorite. It was made with bits and pieces of her team. Narrowed it down to two ships. Pansy’s and the really sleek silver one. She thought for a moment. “I like the silver-ish one. It seems as if it was made from a piece of torn night sky. Don’t you think?” she asked, then she remembered who she was talking with. She shut her mouth.   
  
“I called it the _Silent Shadow_.” he smirked proudly at his creation. “She’s a beauty ,she is.”   
  
“I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. I agree with you Malfoy. It’s a nice boat.”   
  
“Ship.” he corrected.   
  
Hermione glared at him. “You‘re going to die. A  _slow_  and _painful_  death. At my hand. You know this, right?”   
  
He smirked at her. “You‘re not a prophet, Granger. But I, I’ve slept with the stars.”   
  
Hermione snorted.  _Yeah, and I’m a bloody princess. He’s good at Astronomy, my behind!_  
  
  


* * *

_  
_“Now none of you are going to be able to use your wands. So, since everyone has brought theirs, please put your wand into the case and put it on the teachers table.” Minerva said, her tone discouraging any protests.  
  
Students looked at each other, gawking.   
  
“At sea without magic?!?” Neville cried, nonetheless putting his wand on the table..   
  
“What, Longbottom? Can’t survive without your fairy godmother?” Draco drawled easily, also putting his black case on the table.   
  
“Dear Sir, why, wasn’t it you, that just the other day, I heard crying for their fairy godmother because you were too big to fit into your britches and you couldn’t make them any bigger?” a high pitched honey soaked voice said in his ear. He turned to the speaker.   
  
“Why can’t you mind your own business, Mudblood? Looks like you don’t have a fairy godmother, because you still look like the scum on my shoes.” he retorted.   
  
“Oh, very chic, coming from the bouncing ferret…. “ she replied, trying not to laugh. “Why, was I supposed to be frightened? Oh my, I suppose I was.” she said, sarcasm dripping from each word, after a pause, tapping her chin. Then she changed and curtseyed. He really didn’t like the fact that she was comfortable mocking him. He’d have to see to that problem, in the game. He’d make her  _terrified._  And he knew just how to do it.   
  
“ Would you like me to cower as if in a menacing presence now? Or should I debate the fact that you never denied that your britches are too small for you?” she replied wittingly, a smirk on her lips. Draco smirked even wider, and leaned down.   
  
“Oh, I am to big for my britches…if you get my drift Granger.. “ he whispered in her ear. Hermione resisted a shiver of…..my, was it…disgust? “but for anyone but you it seems..“ he finished, and stood back up, and continued with a normal voice. “And my fairy godmothers on vacation. Has been for about 16 years. And no, you weren‘t supposed to be scared. When I want you scared, Granger, trust me. You‘ll know.” he said, smirk back in place… She had no idea what was coming to her.   
  
Hermione glared at him and put her wand next to the growing pile. Once there was a mountain of wand cases on the table, the Headmistress had them all line up against the wall. “Now each of you will have a wand that can only use hygiene, pointer, and other spells. No defense against the dark arts spells in these wands. Some transfiguration is allowed, as well as several charms.” slowly she handed out the wands, which were all the same, a brown 11 inch stick., all the while telling them about the rules and regulations of them. She finished up her speech by saying “If you would please take out your trinket from wherever you have them and touch the tip of your wand with them...”   
  
Hermione watched as several brilliant white flashes went up into the air. She pulled out her silver heart-shaped locket that her mother had given her before she had passed away, Hermione’s initials were engraved on the front. She smiled sadly and touched the locket to the tip of the wand. Suddenly, in a flash, her wand went molten hot, then cooled. Hermione opened her eyes and gasped. It was just like her other wand. Only black, and not used. In the grip of the wand were her initials- Engraved in a heart- just like on her locket. Hermione smiled….   
  
“Now students, I am pleased to inform you that you are ready to go through the portal.” Proffesor McGonagall said, walking over to the flat world. “And I have decided, that instead of falling over the edge, you will end up on the other side of the map, but you will know when you pass under it, I can assure you. Now if you all would please pick up your ships, villages, towns and castles…That would be great. I have also decided to add a marketplace- the teachers will be there often to give advice, and other random animated characters can be there- they, can not leave the place at which they are.   
  
"For each of you, your new clothes will be waiting for you in trunks marked by your name in the room marked with your name. I took the liberty in designing all the clothing myself, but noble girls, if you want better clothing, you are going to have to sew it- it is all part of the game. Now that you all have your acquired pieces, please, leader of each team, step up to the world- which we have called Fliadopia- stands for Freedom, Liberty, Independence and Death of Pirates. The IA is simply there for decoration. Now as I was saying, Nobles, step to the world, and put your buildings/ships/and ports on the island.”   
  
They quietly did so, though it took them about 5 minutes, to choose the layout of the land.   
  
“No, I think it should be here Harry.” Neville said indignantly.   
  
“Harry don’t listen to him, I’m your  _best_ friend, and I say it should go  _here_.” Ron cut in, pointing to a bay.   
  
“How about _I_  choose this moment right now to play  _King_  and I’ll put it right  _here_!” Harry said, pointing to a swampish area.   
  
“No, no…be  _merciful._  Please, I implore you,  _Your Majesty_.” Ron begged jokingly.   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “So where are we putting it?”   
  
“Right  _here,_  Harry” Neville said, impatiently.   
  
“No, Harry,  _really_ , it should go right here!” Ron said…   
  
OK; not so quietly then. But soon they had finished, and the Headmistress called up the next group.   
  
“Now Pirate Captains, if you please?”   
  
Hermione stepped up to the world and looked at the placement of the islands _. I wonder where the treasure would be..._  
 Merlin! She wasn’t even in the game yet, and she was already obsessed with treasure!   
  
 _If I were McGonagall, where would I put it?_  She thought to herself as she eyed a cluster of islands…   
  
She took the  _Lioness_ and began to put her ship close to those islands when…   
  
 _SPLASH!_  
Hermione’s eyes shot up at her assailant, her hair and eyelashes glistening with water droplets. She looked back down and saw where he put his ship. Right where she was going to put hers. “Malfoy, do you have always to be a prat?” she said, agitated.   
  
“ _No,_  actually.” He said, drinking in the astonished look on Hermione’s face.  _Merlin, she’s so thick. She_ is  _a Mudblood, after all._   _What more could I expect?_  
  
“It gets old after a while. When it does, I just go back to my  _normal, charming self_.” Without letter her retort, he walked away from the miniature world.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and put her ship as far away from the towns and the _Silent Shadow_  as she could.  _Charming? Normal? HIM? Never._  
  
“Now that everything is in place, your teacher will be in your town/ship when you get there. No correspondence between friends that are on opposite sides of the game, and good luck.” McGonagall gestured to the wall behind the teachers table. The students gasped. A huge silver door, glowing in all its glory, stood from the rounded ceiling of the Hall to the floor. She smiled. “Who’d like to be first?”   
  
Hermione glared at Malfoy. They both exchanged  a hate filled glance and reached for the door handle at the same time,. His hand briefly closing over hers. Hermione jerked her hand back, scowling at him, confused by the odd searing feeling in her stomach. He smirked triumphantly as he opened the door and stepped through.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes angrily and stepped through after him. “Yeah, I’ve always been a fan of the whole “ _ladies first_ ” concept," she said to his back.   
  
He smirked over his shoulder.  “Ah, but you aren’t a lady anymore,  _Mudblood_. Pirates are Pirates, and I give no quarter.”   
  
And with that statement, he disappeared.


	4. Doomed

Hermione didn’t have any time to react. For a moment, she was suspended, floating in space. Just when she started thinking that it was a nice feeling, the new world crashed down upon her in waves. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t. All she did was fall down, down, down. Any sound she made was snatched away by the wind flying by her, as she fell down….   
  
As if someone had righted to soda bottle that she was in, the world righted itself. Hermione tried to become oriented, and shook her head twice. Her bum _hurt._    
  
Hermione shoved away her pain and looked at her surroundings. With a grin, she realized that she was on her ship. The difference from where she was to where she came had knocked her off her feet.  _Literally._    
  
“It’s about time one of them got here!” a voice said, in obvious relief.   
  
“I know! Being on this boat for a week with you has been killing me!” another voice said, in more obvious relief.  _Whoever these blokes are, they must have gone nuts with the heat._  Hermione thought wryly.   
  
“It’s a ship, bro. Not a boat.” the first voice said.   
  
“For Merlin’s sake! WHO CARES?” the other replied.   
  
“Well, actually, it is a ship, by classical definition, from the Wizards and Wabstors dictionary. It has multiple sails a crows nest and cannon chambers. All of which a boat does not have.” Hermione said, her crew appearing suddenly behind her. Hermione grinned as she watched the emotions blaze across their faces, they looked totally disoriented. Her eyes then fell on Blaise, who looked perfectly comfortable, as if the ride to the ship was a ride in tea land. Hermione’s eyes narrowed.   
  
“Oi!” Fred and George said at the same time. “You’re HERE!”   
  
Hermione’s face barely had time to register terror when the twins pounced her, toppling her to the planks of the deck.   
  
“Hermione!--”   
  
“It’s about--”   
  
‘Bloody---”   
  
“Time!” they both finished together.   
  
George looked at the frail girl beneath them and stood up. “I could hug you to death!” he shouted jovially in her ear. She winced. “Can I give you a hand Her-, I mean, Captain Granger?”   
  
Hermione groaned in pain as she rubbed the now forming goose-egg on her head. Her bum hurt worse. “I don’t know, can you?” she retorted weakly.   
  
Fred shook his head. “You’ll be getting worse bruises than that this week.” he said, as Hermione got up by herself, still rubbing her head.   
  
Susan groaned. “Oh Merlin’s left eyeball, we’re all going to die.” she said when she realized who the two red-headed blokes standing before them in their heroic poses were…   
  
Jem looked pitiful. “We’ve got the Tomato twins.” he whined. So it sounded more like.. “We’ve got the Tomato Twiiihiihiiinnnss…”   
  
“We’re bloooody DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMED!!!!!” Carson wailed dramatically, kneeling on the ground, hitting his head against the unforgiving planks. So, technically, it sounded more like…   
  
“We…BANG…Bloo….BANG…Dooooo…BANG…oooo….BANG…oooo….BANG…MED! "  
  
Then silence. Of course, totally not understandable if you didn’t know where he was or what he was saying, but everyone understood, so they had no problem getting his meaning.   
  
“Oi you,” Fred said, kneeling down to Carson’s level, “Twerp. SHUT UP!” he shouted, slightly irritated. He stood up, and leaned against the mast of the ship, tapping his foot impatiently.   
  
Hermione sighed, drinking in her fate.  _We‘re all going to die_. “OK, can everyone line up on starboard side?” she asked, simply.   
  
Silvester grinned and ran to a side of the ship. Everyone looked at him and with what looked like the expression entitled:   
  
“Ah! Well there’s someone who knows what he’s doing, lets do what he does!”   
  
This expression was pasted onto every one of their faces, as they ran and joined him.   
  
Hermione looked at the twins who’s heads were in their hands, a slight whimpering sound coming from beneath their fingers.   
  
Hermione looked at them with a tired expression, but her eyes were filled with amusement.  _This might just could be entertaining after all_. “Starboard side is t _hat way_.” she said, pointing to he opposite side of the ship.   
  
“Do any of you know anything about a ship at all?” Hermione asked. When no one answered her question, she pointed to the part of the ship, almost impatiently. She had things to do! Her group quickly moved to the newly designated area and lined up. Everyone except for Blaise.   
  
She narrowed her eyes. He simply smirked. She glanced over at George, her honey brown eyes dancing to his irritation. “This is going to be a  _very_ long day.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco, despite the fall, wasn’t disoriented at all. He landed on his ship on both feet, like a graceful cat. Instantly, he drank in his surroundings. He looked around as his team silently landed behind him. He motioned with a finger to his lips for silence. The group dutifully did so.  _This is a test_. Draco didn’t know  _how_  he knew, he just  _did._    
  
The dark grey planks drank in the sounds of their footfalls and converted them into whispers of black darkness. The ship was created for secrecy, Draco had seen to that. The mist curled around their legs silently, grasping at their feet, trying to keep them in place.   
  
A presence. He could feel it. Draco whirled around when he saw a curl of mist unfurl quickly. Nothing. He searched the shadows and the mist. Then he saw it in the corner of his eye, by the mast.   
  
“Nice try, Mr. Malfoy, but you’ll have to keep looking.” said a voice that whispered at his ears. _I know that voice._  He whirled around. Nothing. This is starting to creep me out. He conceded.   
  
Draco took out his new wand. He couldn’t use it for defense against the dark arts, but he could use revealing, but before he could cast a spell, the fog suddenly vanished, to reveal Professor Snape at the helm   
  
In a single moment, they had been transported from a world of mist and fog, to an almost jolly Caribbean area. The fact that Snape was there took the ‘jolly’ part away. Draco had to blink his eyes twice to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things.  _Snape? Caribbean? I must be going mad!_  
The sun was just rising, but the water still shimmered with its turquoise color. Several islands surrounded them, leaving them in almost a “Bay” per se, and a place to practice, and to learn who they were going to be for the next few months.   
  
“You need to use your resources,” Professor Snape said coldly, in his dry, monotone voice. His lips barely moved. He stepped away from the wheel and took the stairs down to the main deck, where the group was waiting. His cloak unfurled with an intimidating motion, causing it to billow around him like a shroud of darkness.  _How does he DO that?_  Draco marveled. Draco had been trying to master that one for years!   
His greasy hair refused to move with the cool breeze that was wafting through the sails silently, lethally...   
  
“If you don’t use what you have at hand, you will  _surely loose_  this game.”   
  
He walked over to a holder, filled with pirate swords and pulled one out. “You will not always have a cutlass with you, your musket will not always be clipped,” he said with a surgical sound, “to your belt. You need to learn how to  _improvise_ ,” Professor Snape paused to admire the shining, deadly weapon, that he was holding in his hands. It glinted in the sunlight. “Or else, you will  _die_.”   
  
In a motion that no one had ever thought capable of the old potions professor, he hurled the sword straight at the boy before him. No one had even saw his arm move.   
  
Draco’s grey eyes opened wide as it hurtled straight towards him. He jerked to the side and reached out to grab the handle as it flew by his face. The sword abruptly stopped in mid-air as his fingers curled to the golden twists of the handle. Only a seeker could boast of those reflexes.   
  
Professor Snape answered the question that was lingering in most everyone’s minds on that ship. They prayed the answer would be no. Fate, however, had a different plan, and Snape’s hair was about to get a lot more greasy.   
  
“Yes, I  _will_ be teaching you how to use a sword. And so help me, you will learn how to use it excellently.”   
  
He grabbed another sword, and with a swish of his ’Cloak of Doom’, he lunged at Draco.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“I cant do this, Fred!” Hermione said, as she sighed in defeat and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She flung her sword to the wood of the deck in frustration.   
  
Fred grimaced as the sun beat down of them, the clashing of swords filling the air. A spark or two flew up from the dancing pieces of metal.   
  
It was day 3, and bruises covered the majority of their bodies,. The eagerness to learn was droned out by the screaming of their muscles, which were drowning in lactic acid. Well, from everyone’s bodies except for Fred and George. They were dutifully teaching the team how to, not only expertly handle the sword, but how to use the information that McGonagall put in their brains when they went through the portal.   
  
According to the Twins, McGonagall told them to tell the team that each one of them had their purpose in this game. One was going to spontaneously love to cook, another to sing bards and sonnets, one to play the guitar, on who could fight better than the rest…ect. They were also teaching the uses of trickery and cleverness, how to weave in your sword when you weren’t expected too, dirty elementary tricks, if you will. After all, that’s what Fred and George were masters at! The kids in elementary never had a chance!   
  
“Yes you can. It’s all been programmed in your body, Little Miss Captain-giving-me-a-hell-of-a-time,” Fred said, leaning against a railing, sweat dripping from his nose. “You just have to remind your muscles that already know how. You’re faster than this, Hermione. The rules of Hogwarts don’t apply here.”   
  
Well that was just peachy! All Hermione knew  _was_  Hogwarts. It was her life. I _wonder what words of wisdom he’s going to spout out next._ Hermione thought, sarcastically.   
  
“Just wait till the clues fall from the sky. It’s not logic, it’s a game.” he said as he held out his hand to her.   
  
 _Oh, that’s even better advice. OH MERLIN! AN ACORN FELL ON MY HEAD!_  Hermione thought grudgingly as took his hand and pulled herself up, grasping her sword.   
  
“Alright then. Take one million and 54!” she shouted with over-dramatic enthusiasm. The other one million and 53 times she had said it, everyone had stopped fighting and looked at her funny. Well…really no one cared anymore.   
  
Hermione bit her lip. _I’m tired of getting defeated by this bloody sword._  She thought, glaring at the golden tool in her hand, the ruby encrusted heart on the handle representing her, not the people that it would kill, and send to the back of the game. Hermione frowned again. It wasn’t really a game.  _Except_  that it totally was. All logic left her. In this game, it was all real- the reactions, the killing…It was all  _real_ here. But the fact that killed her the most was that her muscles  _knew_  all the moves, and she just couldn’t get them to cooperate!   
  
I _bet Malfoy is doing just great with his sword,_ a voice in her head said with contempt.  _Looks like if your blades meet, he’ll be cutting you up jolly little cubes, not the other way around._  
  
Hermione’s eyes flashed in anger at the voice in her head. I _will not let that git beat me in anything._  She bit on her lip harder, tasting blood. _Imagine! To be beat by a ferret._    
  
She looked up at Fred, watching as his face blanched a little at the fury in her eyes.   
  
“Umm…Hermione…Your lip's bleeding.”   
  
Hermione just glared at her sword and got in position. She was going to get it  _bloody_   _right_  this time. And she wasn’t going to fail .   
  
Swiftly, she weaved in with the sword, taking Fred by surprise. Hermione didn’t get to see the look of shock fleeting over his face as she weaved out of the drill she was learning and whirled around going into a drill she had been trying to learn 3 hours before.   
  
George had been watching the team, taking a much needed water break, and was helping everyone learn the tricks of the trade. Everyone had seemed to have been doing great!   
  
Everyone, except for Hermione.   
  
She had been struggling and struggling to get her muscles to remember. It was as if she knew it was all a game, but she couldn’t look at her cards and have a martini. The fight taking place in front of his eyes between his brother and his little brother's crush put him into shock: Enough to stop fighting with Thaddius and stare.   
  
Soon, all the other couples had quit and we’re watching the two fight, Hermione masterfully attacking, and forcing Fred in the defensive.   
  
Hermione vented her fury through her sword. But not to kill. That, she would  _never_ do. This ,she already decided, and promised to herself.   
  
Blaise was shocked. He had never seen Hermione like this. Somehow, in a moment, her bookworm image was blown to bits by this canon ball of an image! His eyes wandered down her body lazily.  _If her hair wasn’t so bushy, then maybe,maybe she’d be decent._  He critiqued mentally. She really wasn’t his type of girl. He was picky, not her color, and well, Blaise Zabini. She was a Mudblood, a know-it-all, and, well, Hermione Granger.   
  
The only reason he showed any interest in her, was that he wanted to tame the shrew. She was as tight as a button hole, and he wanted to loosen her up. Influence her, somewhat. She couldn’t be _all_  good.   
  
Hermione swept through the Starlight drill and blended into the Cross Foot drill, which, she had learned, had nothing to do with crossing her feet. She felt a pair of eyes on her body, but she pushed it away. Surely,  _everyone_ was looking right now. She sidestepped a jab from Fred and kept attacking, searching, seeking out an opening. She blended into drills she knew she hadn’t learned, free styling it, every here and there, careful not to leave an opening on her side.   
  
Sweat was beading on his face, and he was breathing heavy. On the other hand, Hermione noticed that she, wasn’t feeling tired at all. Just exhilarated, like the feeling that Harry told her about when he went flying. A free feeling, a sense of belonging.   
  
She relaxed and swung in playfully, laughing as he met her sword. Her frizzed curls flew free from her hair band as she whirled around and blocked two thrusts in one go.   
She giggled as Fred’s face turned into one of complete horror.  _Did she just giggle?_    
  
Then she saw it. The opening. She thrust her sword in with a smile and whipped his sword from his hands. He tried to roll away, but she swiftly brought her sword to his chin, daring him to move…..


	5. Additions

He looked up the captain who had just mastered the last of the techniques- to better quality than that rest. “I surrender, Captain.”   
  
Draco let his sword down, stepping away from Professor Snape.  _You thought you could beat me? You foolish old man._  
He turned his back to his potions professor, and looked evenly at his crew, who had been watching the fight commence. He opened his mouth to speak ,when he saw slight surprise register on some of their faces, some of their eyes flickered in fear. He turned around quickly and sidestepped the sword that cut through the air where he was just standing half a second before. It had stuck with precision, and a want to kill. The sword hit the mast and wavered there, it’s point stuck deeply into the wood.   
  
He turned to face Snape with anger.  _The bloody git tried to cheat!_ He thought with fury.   
  
 _So why don’t you do something about it?_  The voice in his head said.   
  
Draco’s face twisted into an ugly sneer, as he lunged towards the cloaked man with determination. He deftly flicked away Snape’s sword and watched it fly though the air! His body didn’t relax until he heard the splash of sword hitting water. Once again, he was wrong to have done so. _Don't relax!_  
  
Snape’s hand flew into his robes so quickly, one might have thought that it had never happened. He threw a dagger at Draco. Draco smirked as he plucked it from the air, as they had been taught. He could have wrestled with the professor and won, he could have fought with daggers and won, musket… he could do that too. Everyone knew how to take care of this ship- the cook knew how to cook, they even had a singer. They had learned it all in three days. That’s what had been bothering to much…   
  
“You passed.” Professor Snape said. “ _Never_  let your guard down. Your opponent will act weak, just so they can throw dirt in your eyes in the next moment. Never trust their words, it’s  _foolish_  if you do.” He said, his eyes traveling slowly to meet the eyes of each member of the crew.   
  
“I have something to tell you. Something that I wasn’t supposed to say in the beginning.” Draco’s eyes flew up in surprise. This was new. He knew that Snape would do  _anything_  for him and his crew to win. “You’ve been here for three weeks.”   
  
Raven Trapper gasped. “THREE WEEKS?” She said in shock, flicking her dirty blonde hair from her eyes.   
  
Professor glared at her for a moment then continued his speech. “For every day you have been here, its been half a week, and every night half a week, and so on. Time starts normally when I leave the ship. Which is in precisely an hour.”   
  
He walked over to the mast of the ship and pulled a book out of a black bag that was sitting there, completely out of place. “I’m leaving you this book. From now on,” he said, addressing the group, “You must remember that this is a game. Anything logic, anything Hogwarts, is no longer here. The creatures are new, and the circumstances are totally different. You have to find your own food, but you can use a wand to do it also. Good luck.” he looked at Draco. “Can I have a word?” Draco nodded, the crew left. They knew a dismissal when they heard one.   
  
  
“First off, don’t do anything  _stupid.”_ Professor Snape started.  
  
Draco cocked an eyebrow. ‘That’s not very likely because--”  
  
“Secondly, don’t get full of yourself. Thirdly,” he raised his hand, stopping the questions in Draco’s mouth, “look for the things that aren’t there. That’s all I can tell you.” He handed the book that he was holding in his other hand and put his free hand on Draco’s shoulder. Their eyes met, and as soon as it happened, Snape had faded away. Then he knew, he was truly alone.  
  
  
 _Oh Crap.  
  
…..  
  
But then again, I am the legendary Draco Malfoy._ He thought, then he stopped himself.  _The Legendary Captain Malfoy. How brilliant._  He rubbed his hands together. His crew was already taking posts. He dutily ignored Raven’s seductive stare and walked up to the stern of the ship, hand on the ship’s steering wheel. “To the top, to the top you scurvy dogs! All hand’s make to sail!” a dark smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, adventure wickedly gleaming in his eyes. “Lets go find some treasure.”   
  
  


* * *

_  
_The stars were twinkling in Hermione’s tired eyes. It had been two weeks since Fred and George had left, leaving her with a book of legends and tales from this land, obviously created by The Headmistress. They also had “accidentally” left behind a map that was quite like the marauders map. It had the locations of the ships that were sailing in the waters. Granted, it didn’t have people on it, but Hermione could deduce whose ship was whose.  
  
This version of the Caribbean was nice, and thankfully, there were no bugs, so it was pleasant for everyone.   
  
A crease appeared in Hermione’s brow and Thaddius came up to her. “You gonna be OK, Captain Hell?” Hermione grimaced at the name. She already had given up on trying to convince everyone to stop calling her that. She worked them hard every day, and the name had stuck.  _All because Susan had to whine about having to swab the poop deck… Brilliant._  
“Just as good as I’ll ever be.”   
  
She was lying. He knew she was. Dark circles had become her eye’s best friends, buying themselves a dream home under the irises of honey brown. She had been staying up every night, memorizing the book, studying the map, trying to learn where things were, helping the cook, steering the ship at night.. She got about 4 hours of sleep for every day.   
  
“You need to go rest.” he said, concerned.   
  
“I’ll sleep when I die. And does it look like I’m dying?” Hermione said, a question that wasn’t mean to be answered.   
  
….   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
Hermione glared at the boy. “It was a rhetorical question, Thadds. Besides, why are you still up?” she asked irritated, not to mention insanely tired.   
  
“I want to sing you a song.” he said pertly.   
  
Hermione looked at him, puzzled.  _What did he say?_  “What did you say?”   
  
And this is why Hermione Granger got the “Most Creative Person of 1995” Award.   
  
“I said…I wanted to sing you a song.” He smiled lightly.   
  
Hermione’s ears perked up a little bit. She had heard him humming a bit around here and there, haunting tunes that brought peace and wariness to the crew. His lullabies, Hermione had heard, were fantastic.   
  
She had read  _The Book_  many times. One every ship, there was a singer, and on her ship, he was simply marvelous. Hermione inclined her head, giving her approval. Thaddius jumped and sat on the edge of the ship- water splashing 20 feet below him. He started:   
  
 _Water’s always rushing  
Past our eyes   
Like memories   
Years gone by   
Just another ocean demon   
Just another land   
Just another love   
That this pirate cant understand   
He has always been alone   
Never had a home   
Sailing on restless shores   
His life just a mere mirage _  
  
A guitar began to play on the above, Hermione’s eyes flew open to find Blaise sitting in the crow’s nest, playing his guitar softly with the haunting melody, inspiring a piratical swagger, and causing Thaddius’ voice to grow thicker. Before she knew it, she was swaying to the beat.   
  
 _He went to ol’ tortuga  
Rested for a while   
Sold his soul to Voldemort   
With a charming smile   
  
Love was never his favorite game   
But boy, did he love rum,   
And when the Fliadopia navy came   
All he could do was run…   
  
Run faster dear pirate   
Or you’ll feel the noose   
Time’s a wastin faster   
Run you silly goose! _  
  
Hermione laughed as he repeated the last 3 clauses, and Blaise stopped playing the guitar upon hearing her laughter flow from her mouth. Time must have stopped. Literally.. He didn’t know how she was getting under her skin, but  _by Merlin_ , she was succeeding. He vanished his guitar with his wand, and began climbing down the rope net from the crows nest. He looked down. In puzzlement, he realized that the waves weren’t moving. His eyes moved to the moon, and that was when he saw it.   
  
A shadow, silently cutting across the moon’s reflection….   
  
“Captain Hell!” Blaise called from the nest. “Silent Shadow at the moon!”   
  
Hermione squinted her eyes, but to no avail. _He has super-vision, that one_. Blaise wasn’t all to bad, really. But he was a Slytherin, and that’s what made Hermione keep her guard up around him. She wasn’t scared of him.. He just… He wasn’t her type, was all.   
  
She pulled out her telescope. What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.   
  
She knew who’s it was the moment she saw it. “Malfoy,” she muttered.   
  
Hermione looked again to see that it was the back of the ship that was facing them, so there was a big chance that Malfoy hadn’t seen them yet. Hermione steered closer to the islands on her left, and disappeared behind the closest one.   
  
When she looked back, creeping along the edges, the shadow was gone….   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Minerva McGonagall looked upon the map, displeased at the lack of action in the world which she had worked so hard, albeit against her will, to create. Severus Snape also, was not content.   
  
Seeing Granger run away was the last thing that he suspected. He was quite angry. Minerva opened her mouth to speak. “We need to switch up the rules of the game.” she suggested.   
  
He nodded in agreement. “It’s getting quite boring.”   
  
She pursed her lips. “I’ll think of something.”   
  
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Sure you will.”   
  
Minerva’s eyebrows flew up, hiding under her hair. “Excuse me?”   
  
He smirked.  _Just like old times_. “You heard me, Professor.”   
  
Minerva cringed. “Mr. Snape, don’t act like a  _teenager_. For Merlin’s sake, we’re both adults! ”   
  
Severus smiled. It looked like he had botox, and his uneven teeth were bared in a grin. He went over to a bookshelf on the wall and cocked his head to this side. “You said that anything you dropped in the world would change it’s properties?”   
  
The headmistress nodded, uncertain. “Yes, that’s what I said.” she answered, warily as he pulled a book from the bookcase.   
  
“Interesting…” he mused, flipping the pages of the book in his hands. “You know Minerva, I don’t think you would change the rules of the game even if you wanted to,” he said, turning to the woman who used to be his professor when he was at Hogwarts as a student. “You were always a stickler for rules, and a big oppositionist to anything new or not in your rule book. And you were also terrible at Quidditch when you were a young girl. Tried out for chaser, many times in fact, if legend is correct. But they say that you couldn’t catch anything worth your life.”   
  
Her eyes narrowed. “Just what are you getting at Severus?” she hissed slightly.   
  
He smirked and looked at the book in his palm. Minerva saw the gleam in his eye.  _Oh this can’t be good._  
Minerva’s mouth opened in horror as he tossed the book at her. ”Catch.” he said softly, almost indifferently.   
  
Her mind did the runes’ equations quickly. She knew the book wasn’t going to make it. What made her angrier, was that she knew it had been thrown short on purpose. She reached out the grab it frantically. Her eyes widened in terror as the book fell through the surface, but not before she had caught the glimpse of the title.   
  
She fainted.   
  
Snape smirked smugly at her lying form as he owled for Madam Promfry and left the room. 


	6. To Fight a Pansy

Hermione smiled as she watched the sun peek over the edge of the sea, winking at her as it hovered over the water. Blaise came up to stand beside her, his hands clasped behind his back.   
  
The two had become closer over the time that had elapsed, always spending time together, him taking over the helm as Hermione went to sleep. She didn’t trust him with everything, but she knew she could trust him with her ship. They plotted together, and tried to figure out the clues together. He was ridiculously smart, and had a lot of common sense. His ability to detach from logic and think creatively astounded her. Almost everything they did was hand in hand. Sure, he was his annoying Slytherin self most of the time, but he always surprised Hermione with what he had to say. They were almost on first name basis.   
  
“Beautiful morning, is it not?” he said, nonchalantly.   
  
“It is.” Hermione said, truthfully, inwardly thinking, _what do you want?,_  as she glanced to the ebony skinned boy beside her. “What is it Blaise?”   
  
He looked at her and grimaced. “I can’t get this one move right, the Crescent Sun drill. I swing my sword the right way, but I cant do the twist motion after it. I practiced with Thad, but I cant do it.” he said, fingering his black steel cutlass in its sash.   
  
Hermione stood away from the wheel of the ship and smiled, pulling out her own. She always wanted to help. So that was what she did. “Do it slowly.” Hermione said, beginning the drill.   
  
Blaise and Hermione went through the steps, one by one, Hermione placing his hands in the right spots as needed. “You’re a little low on your placement here.” she said, as she turned around and flicked his hand with her cutlass, the sun glinting off the gold blade. Blaise hissed as a small cut blossomed on his hand. “This way you’ll remember.” Hermione said fiercely. Blaise opened his eyes in shock.   
  
“I’m sorry, but it had to be done.” she stepped gracefully and slowly into the next move, her sword hitting hilts with his. She turned her sword so she could show him an identical cut that she had, but hers was now scared. “I did the same thing, and Fred taught me like this. He had one too.” she said almost apologetically. “Now this is the important step,” she said as she turned her sword, and he did likewise. “Good. That’s it Blaise.” she said lightly as she twirled through the next few steps of the drill and waved hello to Thaddius who came up from below decks.   
  
“Hi, Captain Hell. What’s up?” he grinned cheekily at her and pulled out his own cutlass and laced it with hers. Hermione smiled as the began fencing with each other. It was a game, keeping them in shape. None of them could afford to be slackers!   
  
“Nothing really, you?” she said as she sidestepped a blow and attacked lightly. The surprising fact was that Hermione seemed to move instinctively. Instead of focusing on the moves, she focused on the conversation. She was a natural.   
  
“Just trying to figure out why Blaise keeps messing up his move. I don’t understand….” Thaddius said as he quickly fended off a blow aimed at his stomach. “Why he can’t avoid stuff like that.”   
  
Hermione smiled as she whirled around, flicking Thaddius’s sword from his hands.   
  
She whirled around and met blades with Blaise, her sword slashing so they were hilt to hilt. Her face mere milli-meters from his. “You just try to stick them before they stick you. The only rule is,” she said breathlessly as she whirled away from him and curled his sword from his hand and let it fly ,”That you don’t get so close that they can kiss you,” the cutlass stabbed into the deck, point down, with a  _thunk._  Hermione smiled and sheathed her sword.   
  
She held out a hand to help him up.   
  
Blaise grinned mischievously and said, “Not unless they’re gorgeous, like yourself.”   
  
Hermione had no time to blush for she had gasped as he pulled her down on to the ground, grappling with her. She grinned as she hit the ground harshly, pushing and prodding his weak spots.   
  
“You can’t beat me Blaise.” she gritted, the curve of her lips faltering as she broke his hold and maneuvered herself atop him, “So stop trying.”   
  
He scissored his legs and began to pull himself atop her. On his way up he brushed his lips across her cheek, inconspicuously, no one else had seen. It was light as a feather, almost not there, but he let his lips linger just enough, so that he knew that she felt it. Blaise felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “You’re loosing, Captain.. I just got close enough, and I kissed you.” he whispered in her ear,.   
  
Hermione’s eyes spaced open as his lips brushed her cheek. It was an odd feeling, something that could have been a mere play between friends, but as she looked into his dark eyes, she knew this was above and beyond that, and she didn’t like it. But, being the famous Hermione Granger, she regained her composure and smirked. He had left one of her hands free.  _Now if I could just--_  
She reached up and yanked him by his hair and pulled his head towards her. “Not that this isn’t  _fun,”_  she said, stressing the last word, “But I have work to do.” She yanked his torso and rammed it to the ground, positioning her self in a crouch multi-threat position. “Match.” she said, letting go of his hair sharply.   
  
He winced and called back after her. “You can’t just run away from it, Granger. You feel it too.”   
  
Hermione’s head whipped around, “Aye, but I can leave it for later.” she met his dark eyes once more and went to her quarters and brought out the map of clues, and the ship-ish marauders map. “ALL HANDS AT THE HELM!” she called out loudly.  She didn't want to think about what just happened. She needed to get active, so she could forget.  
  
The sounds of scuffling and running reached her ears-ropes being pulled and put in their correct places- it was as if they had been doing this their whole lives. Hermione waited patiently as the crew gathered around her.   
  
Thaddius grinned at her. “What we doin’ Cap’n Hell?”   
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I thought that it was time that we went and plundered a ship.” she opened the Ship-ish map and waited a moment so that everyone could see where the other ships were. The left side of her mouth quirked up. She pointed to a ship not very far from them. “How about this one?”  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry tossed and turned in his over comfortable bed. He just couldn’t sleep. For the past two weeks he had been going to banquets, blessing the children born to extras in the game. Extras were people, not from Hogwarts, that were placed in the game by the Headmistress. And Ron. Ron was just infuriating. Why you might ask?   
  
Hermione.   
  
 _Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. That’s all he talks about anymore!_  Harry thought irritably. In fact, she was the reason he was tossing in his bed. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Whenever he closed his eyes he was thinking, _Is she ok? Is she still alive?_ or something along those very lines.   
  
He closed his eyes and her face filled the empty space behind them. He groaned as he felt a rush of something he couldn’t name tingle throughout his whole body. He got up out of bed and reached out to the bell that hung by his bed that would have a servant come and assist him. Then he thought better of himself. _If I ask someone to do this, word could get out, and if word gets out, my crown could be taken away, if my crown gets taken away, then she wont be safe, and if she isn’t safe, then she’ll probably “die”, and if she probably dies, I wont know where she is!  
  
Not that I know where she is anyways_. He groaned as he realized she had come up in his thoughts again.  _That nasty little bugger…_  
He went over to his nightstand, footfalls falling softy on the fur rug covering the floor. He opened the bottom drawer, removed the wand, his snitch, and his book of the history of Fliadopia, and finally removed the bottom of the draw to reveal a hidden space.   
  
Harry pulled out a very dear friend of his. I have got to do this my way.  _I can’t be a spoiled king, that’s Malfoys job._  
The invisibility cloak rippled gently under his inquisitive fingertips. Here we go again. He took the cloak and set it on the chair, folding it to make sure he wouldn’t forget where it was. He walked over the desk by the window and lit his wand with a nonverbal spell ( _Lumos)_  and set it in the wand holder, so it acted like a light.   
  
He picked up a quill and a piece of parchment and began writing a letter. As soon as he was done he slipped the letter in an envelope and then proceeded to seal it with wax and his own engraving- the snitch. He rolled the tiny gold ball over the wax then slipped it into his robe pocket and pulled over the cloak, making him completely invisible. He had thrown it in his pack at the last moment before entering the portal. He knew that it would come in handy. In that moment, Harry Potter disappeared from view.   
  
A door opened and closed on it’s own…….   
  
He was out of the room and headed down the hallway. Harry was going to the nantchuketery. He pulled of his cloak once he was in the tower and walked over to the nearest nantchuket.   
  
It was an odd creature, a sea-horse that lived in the air and had fairy wings,, horse legs, and deep inquisitive eyes. about the size of an owl. Of course, theses were miniatures, larger ones were fit to ride. These were considered by wizards and witches in the area, anyone from Hogwarts really, to be the owls of Fliadopia. They came in a variety of colors, ranging from teal, to bright orange. Any color of the rainbow, really. They could also understand anything that anyone of any race (animals, humans…anything)- even thought they couldn’t talk back..   
  
He went to the one in the corner, the one all by itself. Harry gently stroked the black one’s back, and whispered softly, “Care to do me a favor?”   
  
The little black nantchuket looked at him with deep blue eyes and nodded anxiously. Harry grinned, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight room and rolled the letter into a scroll shape. He grabbed a small wing-pack from the wall and fastened it to the back of the small nantchuket and placed the letter inside. “Do you have a name?” he asked.   
  
The nantchuket shook its head slowly. Harry thought for a moment. “I name you Darkness. So don’t fail me.” the creature nodded, its eyes lighting up with the news of its name. A blinding flash of light filled the room, blinding the young king for a moment. Harry opened his eyes again, trying to adjust to the blackness.   
  
He glanced at the little creature and saw the name he had given it blazed on the place where its “mane” would be. Harry shook his head with amusement and said, “I need you to get this to Captain Hermione Granger- Pirate Captain. She is in the sea somewhere. I’m sure you know where to go.” the little thing nodded, eyes alight with adventure. “Now off with you! And good luck!” he said, picking up the creature in his hands and letting it fly into the night. The seekers eyes watched it leave, the nantchuket’s silhouette disappearing quickly against the starry sky. He smiled wistfully as he watched it fly. “Good luck.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
_Pansy Parkinson._  A name not only to invest fear into the eyes of one who is scared of breaking a nail on the rigging, but also to make any real pirate scoff in absurdness. She may have been good with the sword, but she was downright ridiculous! At the moment, she and her crew were anchored…as they have been for the past week.   
  
“Captain, Can’t we please go somewhere?” Terry Boot whined.   
  
Pansy rolled her eyes. “No.” she didn’t even bother changing the intonation. _That question has been asked over 100 times already today!_ she fumed inwardly, munching on a piece of salted meat.  _Ugh. This stuff must have so many calories._  She grimaced.   
  
Pansy wasn’t really the pug faced girl that everyone depicts her to be. She really was a beautiful girl- her expression just messed it up a little. OK, so it messed it up a lot. If she didn’t look like she was constipated all the time, she’d be decent. Her black hair swung evenly into her eyes in a jagged cut that swept across her forehead- her green eyes roamed leisurely across the deck of the ship. Once she had figured out that there was no one really good looking on her ship, she changed into a dress worthy of a queen and lounged about in her cabin most of the time.   
  
But today was different. She knew it; felt it somehow. She had changed into a pair of breeches and a tight white shirt, her sword attached to her side. She may seem like a new recruit, no tatters in her clothes to show character…but she wielded her sword well. Very well in fact. She was as fast as a cobra, her aim as deadly as a precision knife.   
  
She put her hand on her hip , “Raise the anchor!” she yelled up to her mates. “We’re getting out of here!” she cried…then resumed eating her snack as the rest of the crew weighed anchor and made ready to sail.   
  
“Captain!” came a cry from the crow’s nest.   
  
“What is it Hannah?” Pansy asked irritably, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at the girl above.   
  
“It’s Pirates! The Lioness by the looks of it!” she yelled.   
  
Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “Mudblood Granger.” She pulled out her spyglass and raised it to the horizon. “So it is,” she muttered to herself. “Everyone get ready for battle! Places, like Crawford taught us.” she yelled across the deck and positioned herself at the helm.   
  
Crawford was the last name of the Arithmacy and Ancient Runes teacher at Hogwarts. He was cunning and brilliant. And his lessons that he had given them on how to fight were going to help them win today.   
  
 _Bring it on you filthy little Mudblood. I’m waiting._    
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Steady as she lay!” Hermione shouted, “Man your head braces, your halyards! Keep those ropes tight, Thadds!” She directed to her crew as she stood at the helm, sailing towards the ship, which wasn’t moving.  _Surprise, Surprise_. Thought Hermione.  _Wonder why the Pansy wont run._    
  
She knew that Pansy was a fierce fighter, in  _Fliadopia, A History_ , they often referred to her as “The Snake” because of her quick sword usage and agility. It had a story about her childhood, how she became to be a pirate, and her fierce skills. Hermione could only hope that Pansy hadn’t tapped into them as well as she  _should_ have.   
  
“Keep her close to the wind mates! We want to catch her on the side!” Hermione pulled out her spyglass and peered at the ship.   
  
Blaise walked up behind Hermione. “I’ve got your back.” he said, putting his hand on her back, his fingers splayed wide.   
  
Hermione didn’t take her eyes from the spyglass. “You don’t have to. Just make sure you come out of this ali--”   
  
Blaise jerked her towards him, capturing his mouth with hers.   
  
Hermione was lost in several sensations. It was, for want of a better word,  _pleasant._  nothing more. Then she came to the conclusion, _I don’t want this._  She pushed him back, looking into his eyes. He smiled slightly. “Close but no cigar, eh?”   
  
Hermione smiled. “Guess not.”   
  
Blaise frowned as he let her go. “Thought it’d be different. I’ll still be waiting if you want to try again.”   
  
Hermione laughed. “Not likely Blaise. Friends?”   
  
The grin faded off his face. “I love you. I’m not sure that qualifies me as a friend.”   
  
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but he was already gone.  _What in Merlin’s Name? Love?_  She frowned slightly, trying to digest the words that he had spoken, and put the spyglass to her eyes once more.  _He’s a Slytherin. They don’t know how to love._  She didn’t know what to think. This was  _so_  out of character for him. It raised her hackles immediately. He was after something. She didn’t like the thought of that.   
  
Pansy, waiting in her breeches and girly shirt was standing there, smirking at them, hair blowing dramatically in the wind. Hermione rolled her eyes as she touched her own hair. The curls were slightly tamed, thanks to the wand that she kept strapped in her boot. They were still doing their best to jump out of the ribbon that confined her hair. Hermione stretched her back, feeling the dagger fastened between her shoulder blades scratch against her skin.   
  
Hermione grinned.  _I’m going to win today, I can feel it. Nothing could possibly go wrong._  She glanced back through the spyglass and pulled out her wand, getting down to the floor. She aimed through a well cut hole, and glued all of the cannon ports from  _The Black Plague_  shut. Some would call it cheating, Hermione would call it using all of her resources. Soon, due to her crew’s amazing mastery of the ropes and runs of the ship, they were alongside the  _Black Plague_. Hermione stepped from the helm of her ship and walked over to the side.   
  
“Oi, PAAARRKKKINSSSONNN!” she called out. “I’d love a word!”   
  
Pansy walked from the helm gracefully, green eyes smirking at Hermione. “Why isn’t it the little Mudblood. How  _thrilling._  Might I ask why you’re here?” she asked, crossing her arms as if she hadn’t a care in the world.   
  
Hermione simply rolled her eyes. “Now, now, Parkinson. It’s alright to be afraid. Why don’t you just hand over your loot, and my crew and I will leave  _peacefully_.” she offered smartly, hand twittling over her sword.   
  
Pansy laughed, a harsh, brutal sound that startled several of the people in each crew. “Me?  _Scared?_  Don’t be foolish Granger. What do you think I am, a  _Mudblood_? Why would I ever pass up a chance to fight the dreaded _Lioness_? Hmmm? This would be your first battle, yes?”   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes, then opened them slightly, looking completely normal. “The weather  _is_ very good today.” Pansy looked at her as if she was mad. Her green eyes quickly assed Hermione’s face. She looked innocent.  _Too innocent._  
  
Hermione looked and saw movement in her peripheral vision, Sylvester’s gold hair, glinting in the sunlight. “I  _do_  hope it continues.” Pansy looked even more bewildered, her crew confused as mess. Hermione refused to grin in satisfaction as the board under her foot moved, signaling another movement. She looked Pansy in the eyes and said the dreaded words…   
  
“You should eat more  _bananas,_  Parkinson.”   
  
Pansy looked at Hermione as if she were a retard. “Why would I want to do _that_?”   
  
Hermione smirked. “Cause they’re  _good_  for you.  _NOW MATES_!” she yelled, pointing her cutlass to the sky. There was a great roar of response as they swung from ropes to the Black Plague, half staying on the ship, half attacking. Hermione grabbed a rope and launched herself onto the other ship, aiming for Pansy.   
  
She landed neatly in front of the girl, her hair finally breaking free of it’s cord. “Oranges are good too, but bananas are  _better.”_  Hermione said, lunging at Pansy skillfully. Pansy cut her back, forcing her to retreat.   
  
“I never much liked oranges,  _or_  bananas.” Pansy replied casually, as she moved in a circle, Hermione moving in a stance on the other side. She drove in, her sword flashing and cutting Hermione’s shirt. Hermione looked aghast. Pansy simply smirked. “I never much liked  _Mudbloods,_ either.” She cut in, watching as a weak trail of blood blossomed on Hermione’s shirt. Hermione though, refused to loose her cool.   
  
“Well I never much liked pampered prissies who whine and bitch, when they never get their way.” Hermione said, lunging in, her gold cutlass clashing with Pansy’s bronze one. “What a pity, you’re not getting your way  _this_  time either.”   
  
Then she drove in relentlessly, her sword never stopping, searching for an opening….  
  
Thaddius was fighting fiercely, roaring in the face of a younger Slytherin…..Roars and shouts of pain filled the air, fierce battle cries and curses shot from the ships like fireworks, the cannons sitting in silence, for everyone needed to be up on the decks, fighting for possession….   
  
Several minutes passed of sword metal hitting metal, clashing together in a deadly dance of steel.   
  
“You good for nothing Mudblood whore!” Pansy shouted at Hermione, flashing in defense mode, keeping Hermione at bay, their swords letting of sparks.   
  
Hermione stayed quiet, still searching for the opening, not responding to the 7th insult that Pansy had yelled at her. _Let the snake waste her breath. She’s getting tired, I can feel it._ Hermione whirled around, her back touching Pansy’s for a split moment, and they sprung apart again, their cutlasses dancing the dance of death.   
  
They were very much alike. Neither was beautiful, both were fantastic swordswomen, and they could focus on the conversation, rather than on their swords. Maybe this could be the reason why they hated each other so much.  _Nah. Pansy’s too much of a blockhead_. Hermione mused.   
  
Pansy felt a coolness hit her back and sprung around to fend off a cleverly aimed slash. She was unnerved by her opponents’ silence. The black haired girl kept fending off blows from the bushy headed one, sweat forming over her perfectly manicured brow as she moved from one defense position to the next. “Snake got your tongue Granger? Or are you just too much of a  _coward_ ,” she twirled and slahed Hermione’s sword again, “to talk back?” she panted.   
  
Hermione smiled inwardly.  _Yes, she’s getting tired…Should have eaten a banana this morning…_  
  
She kept her sword cutting, weaving, drilling, clashing with Pansy’s brass cutlass, seeking, searching for that one small opening. But Pansy’s skill was superb, leaving no room for mistakes. Hermione was just about to give up searching when she saw it….   
  
Pansy had tripped on a nail, a small nail in the plank of her ship. She felt it right under her heel as she stumbled. Her sword went up a fraction of an inch, and she prayed that Hermione hadn’t seen it. But by the time she had recovered, Hermione’s sword had filled the fraction of space and whipped her sword out of her hands. Hermione caught it with her free hand, a small smirk making its home on her lips.   
  
Pansies eyes opened in shock, then she remembered the dagger she had, hidden between her shoulder blades. She reached back quickly only to find empty air.   
  
“Looking for this?” Hermione asked, a silver dagger lying in her palm. She had sheathed her sword in it’s rightful place, so she could have a free hand to hold the intricately carved dagger. Pansy’s narrowed eyes told her all that she needed to know. Hermione touched the sword to the girl’s throat. “Yield.”   
  
Pansy’s eyes fluttered down. “I’m going to get you for this, Granger. Just you wait.” her eyes shot back to clash with the honey brown ones.   
  
The brown ones were merciless. “I said,  _yield_.” Hermione demanded, pricking Pansy‘s throat with the sword, causing a bead of blood to form at the tip.   
  
She left no choice but for Pansy to answer, “I yield! I yield!  _Stop!_  You’re going to scar my neck!” She threw her hands up in surrender, palms up.   
  
 _Never underestimate the vanity of your opponent._  Hermione looked at Pansy’s hand, which was held up in the air. She grasped the hand, still pointing her sword at the owner. It looked like an intricate bite on the side.  _Actually, it looks like a snake bite!_  she thought quickly. She looked closer.  _And she’s been bitten several times!_ she thought, judging my the marks on her palm.   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes as she lifted her sword, but only a fraction. She tilted Pansy’s head up, and with that motion, made Pansy hesitantly raise herself from the ground. Hermione looked at her. “Now, call of your men.” It wasn’t a request. It was demand. Turns out that Hermione Granger, is a control-freak. Who’d’ve guessed it?   
  
Pansy glared at her. Hermione stood her ground. “ _Now._  Or I’ll slit your throat.” she said, pleasantly, but her eyes were not joking at all. Pansy could tell by the seriousness that was flooding her expression.   
  
Pansy gulped. “I…I…Oh,  _fine_! CREW! STOP FIGHTING AT ONCE, ENTER FULL SURRENDER MODE!” she looked at Hermione. “Happy now?”   
  
Hermione raised a brow. “Not nearly. Now tell them to circle around the center mast and let my mates tie them to it with the ropes. We’ll set them free before we leave. We can’t be too careful with vipers,  _can we_ , Captain Parkinson?” she asked, over sweetly.   
  
Pansy snarled and did as she ordered. Hermione smirked. “You see, we would ransom you all off, but seeing as there’s no one who would pay even half a cent to have you…I guess we can’t,” she said, ignoring the Black Plague crew’s shouts of protests. “ Now, you and I are going below along with my very good friends Thaddius and Blaise.” she said as she motioned for the two boys to come forward. They grasped each of the defeated captain’s arms, Hermione looked her in the eye, daring her to move. “And you’re going to give me your treasure map.”   
  
Pansy opened a mouth to protest, Hermione pressed her sword to the protesting voice box a little more. “You were just going to tell me where the treasure was,  _weren’t you,_  Captain?” Captain Hell asked snidely.   
  
“It’s in the hold behind the barrels of meats.” Pansy said, shoulders dropping in defeat, knowing there was no way out. She glanced a Blaise, her own fellow Slytherin, but he shook his head in disgust. Her last chance had failed her.  _He had to die._  Because of him, they were defeated, this was it. “I guess I should give you that map now, shouldn’t I?”   
  
Hermione smiled in victory. “I guess you should.”   
  
Pansy went submissively to her cabin, Blaise walking in with her, Thaddius watching the door.   
  
Hermione turned to Pansy. “I want your signet.”   
  
Pansy blanched, “But…But you can’t have that.”   
  
Hermione pulled out her cutlass one more time and brandished it at her throat. “ _Give_  it to me.”   
  
The color faded from Pansy’s face. “ I need my hands to take it off,” she said.   
  
Hermione nodded deftly to Blaise, who promptly let her go. Pansy reached behind her neck to unclasp a silver chain that ran to hide behind her blouse. She pulled it out and handed it to Hermione who pocketed it quickly in a pouch that hung from her belt. “The map now, if you please.”   
  
Blaise grabbed Pansy again. “Its over in the top drawer of the desk.” she said.   
  
Hermione walked over and pulled out the map, one that had a completely different clue on the back. She also put this in the pouch. “My mates have already gotten the treasure chest on our ship, thank you for being so kind.” she said to Pansy, who merely sneered.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes as she motioned for them to leave the room. Hermione took one more glance around and left the cabin.   
  
She turned and smiled after they tied Pansy to the mast. An odd sound was coming from her left; Blaise’s breath hitching in painful gasps… Hermione didn‘t acknowledge it. He was Blaise Zabini. Surely, it wasn‘t bad enough to kill him.   
  
“ Thank you all for your time, we really appreciate it. Bon Voyage!” she yelled, swinging back to her boat. “Don’t forget to eat those bananas!”   
  
She stepped onto the deck of her own ship, patting her side where pansy‘s map and signet were. A treasure chest stood by the center mast. “Make sail, mates! Lets go and we’ll celebrate our victory elsewhere!” Her crew roared in response and led the ship a bit away from the other. Hermione turned back as she heard laughter from her crew. “What is it?”   
  
Thaddius grinned. “Looks like we forgot to untie the bastards.  _Pity.”_    
  
Hermione smiled as she heard Pansy screaming obscure words at their ship; Screeches that faded into nothing as the  _Black Plague_  became nothing but a mere dot on the horizon. Hermione relaxed against the helm, the cut on her stomach burning slightly.  _My first scar, and I got it talking about blasted bananas_. She rolled her eyes and looked at her working crew. “Victory is ours mates, Victory is ours.”   
  
Silvester looked down at her from the crows nest. “Captain Hell?”   
  
And her victory went down to scrub poop deck. “What is it now?” she asked, slightly irritated.   
  
“Stop using ‘mates.’ You’re not Australian.”   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Aye, but we’re pirates. And that’s what we pirates do. We act Australian when we’re really British.” she smiled. “Who wants to get the rum, and we’ll have a celebration?”   
  
Thaddius grinned. “That’s the first logical thing I’ve heard you say all day.” and rushed below decks.   
  
Hermione grinned at Blaise who was sitting in the corner on a barrel, looking pained. Her grin faded away. “Blaise…are you ok?” she asked, stepping closer to him, and putting her hand on his forehead.  _Merlin! He‘s burning up!_  
“No.” He moved his hand that was clutching his waist, and pulled up his shirt, just so his wound was revealed.. Hermione gasped.   
  
Blood poured from dagger incision in his side. It was deep, and long.   
  
“Pansy,” he rasped, his face pale and drawn. Suddenly, as if all the fight had gone out of him, his eyes rolled up into his head. He fell to the planks, his head cracking on the deck, and then, everything went black. 


	7. The Book

The last thing he heard was Hermione’s scream. 

She rushed over to him, feeling his forehead, a fever boiling his skin. She grabbed a wand and quickly closed the wound. She put his hands to his sides when she saw something glint in one of his hands. She pried his hand open and found a silver dagger. She pulled the matching one out of her boot.  
   
 _Pansy._  Her eyes narrowed with hate towards the girl. Blaise’s labored breathing brought her back to earth. “Someone get Jem! Tell Daphne to boil up some rags and water, I need to clean him up. And for Merlin’s sake, someone bring up some blankets. He’s going to  _shiver_ to death!"

She tuned out all of the sounds of rushing feet, shouts and orders as she looked at the young man laying on the deck beside her, his eyes closed, a sullen expression on his face. Hermione gently brushed away a hair that fell over his eyes. And that was when she knew. 

She could only ever be acquaintances with him. Friends at the most. Hermione sighed as Daphne brought her a bucket of boiled cloths, steam rising from the rags. Hermione pulled out her wand and re-opened the wound, which began to bleed freely; Red and true. The same color as her blood. 

She whispered an incantation to reveal poison, or any impurities in the blood. It was important to know, because with that knowledge, she could save his life. A ray of hope shined in her soul. But, as quickly as good things come, they go. 

Her face lost all color. The wound had turned a sickly shade of purple. 

Blaise was poisoned. 

And that shade of purple meant that there was no cure. 

The only question that remained was,  _How long is he going to live?_

With a grim face, Hermione set to do the impossible:  _save her friend._  

  
  
  
  


* * *

Draco smiled smugly as the white nantchuket flew to him and landed on his arm, a scroll attached to its leg. He fed the creature a couple lulu berries and proceeded to open the scroll, paying no heed to the wax seal. 

A lulu berry was one of the many fruits that Draco had encountered on Liama island just of the south coast of Rica Bay. He gathered some fruits that looked vaguely like a mix between bananas and oranges.  _Pansy would like that. She’s always stressing about her…what did she call them? The whites spots on her nails?_  He rolled his eyes as his mind drifted from the lulu berry to the letter in front of him. It read: 

_Dearest Draco,_

_I miss you soo much. I wish you were here with me now. The food is horrible and I’m sick and tired of this game. I just want to go back home, and take you with me… So you could do all of the things you promised. As you asked, I have sent you an exact copy of my map, so you can figure this out and take me all the sooner._

_Blah. Blah. Blah_. Draco rolled his eyes as the letter went on to describe exactly what she wanted done to her. He crinkled it up and threw it into the water. What he wanted was the second scroll, the one behind the letter. 

Pansy’s map. He grinned as he turned it over, her clue written on the back. In loopy handwriting: 

_On the shores of bays of fruit_  
Lies a berry, oh so true   
But yet to south lies a sweeter taste   
One of an unfound clue   
Sir Questal came and laid it here   
A valiant knight to be sure   
Mad was the man yes we know   
Ra he shouted and no more   
Beware of the pretty sand   
It will grab you in a moment   
And the 7 humps in line   
At the end you’ll find the cue.  

He puzzled over the part that made no sense.  _Who the hell is Sir Questal?_  He chucked it as non important information and re-read his own. 

_In a world that’s just a game_  
This island will keep you sane   
Just another random clue   
Points you in the direction due   
Find the famous black fruit   
Capture the sick map   
And you’ll be merry.  

It had taken him less than 15 minutes to figure out his own clue. Well, the lulu berry took some time, but now that he knew that it was, it was much simpler. The ‘sick map’ just pointed to the  _Black Plague_. 

So he set onto the wooing of the Snake, as he read that she was called. The only way to get what he wanted, was to make her feel that she was going to get something in return. And besides, he thought to himself, she would do anything for me anyways. And the bimbo fell for it. His ice-blue eyes roamed over the map, searching for the island on which he found the lulu berry. After finding Liama island, he looked at the area south. His lips curled darkly as he saw the only island south of there. And shaped like a lulu berry too.  _How absolutely dashing_. Draco ran a hand through his smooth blonde hair. 

He said the name of the island, just to feel the syllables roll gracefully of his tongue. He said one more time before he put the map into a conveniently placed pocket. 

The name of the island echoed from the planks as he walked into his quarters to mark the course. He grinned as the island name passed through his head again. 

_Siramadra._  

 

* * *

The time that Hermione didn’t spend resting by Blaise’s bunk inside the ship was when she was sitting in her cabin, pulling everything she could from the two clues that she had, or taking 30-45 minute power naps. 

Her almost sleepless nights were finally rewarded as she came to an answer. Her first destination. 

_Siramadra_. Really, it was quite simple. She had just taken the parts of Pansy’s clue that had made no sense, 

She leaned over the table slightly to pull the Ship-ish map to her. Her eyes opened in shock when she saw that Draco’s ship had moved far from Liama island, moving a distinct course south. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she saw a white object seemingly flying from his ship to Pansy’s. She zoomed in on the map until it seemed that she was right beside the unidentified flying object. She gasped in glee _. A nantchuket._  she smiled with delight. Her grin was gone as soon as it appeared. 

Hermione did what she did best……be Hermione, of course. She began to analyze. 

_Why in the world would Draco Malfoy communicate with Pansy? Unless they’re together all over again, but that’s impossible. A long distance relationship? Not likely._  She grasped unconsciously at the object dangling from her neck, but instead of feeling her locket under her fingers, she felt something far smaller. Hermione looked down to see Pansy’s silver necklace dangling from her neck on a chain longer that her locket, no longer tucked in her blouse. Hermione paused for a moment to examine the exquisite piece of finery. 

The silver and diamond snake glinted in the lantern-light. She peered closer to find that it had emerald eyes. Hermione turned it over to find an engraving on the back. 

“Curious.” she whispered into the empty air. She rummaged for a magnifying glass in her drawer. Once she found it, she put it up, and pulled it away from the snake, magnifying the letters that were engraved into the surface, for forever: 

_To the beauty of a snake,_

_Draco Malf-_  
“OUCH!” Hermione cried out, the amulet falling to the table.  _The nasty little bugger bit me!_  She cursed under her breath and sucked away the bit of blood that was seeping from a snake-like puncture on her index finger. She glared at the little snake on the table, which was getting larger, and writhing at that. Hermione pulled out her wand, and pointed it at the now life-sized snake, excepting anything. This was a gift from a Slytherin. Physical force wasn’t going to do anything to it. What she didn’t expect, though, were for letters, pieces of parchment, to cascade out of the snake’s mouth.  _A wizard’s fax machine?_  Hermione thought.  _Or just a storage box?_  
There were 7 letters to be exact. Hermione picked one up, her mouth dropping in shock, then to be replaced by a feeling of disgusting awe towards Captain Malfoy. Everything made sense now, the Nantucket, Pansy’s reluctance to give her the signet…It held her secret, and her only weakness. 

The man had wooed the snake and stolen her clues out from under her. 

Hermione shook her head in amazement. She pulled out a notebook that she had smuggled on to write out under Pansy’s name. 

_Weakness: Draco Malfoy._  
Signet: Snake container necklace   
Treasure: secured   
Map and Clue: used and stored  

She tapped her chin with her pen thoughtfully and wrote several other things down under her name, then she flipped to Draco’s page and filled in what she knew: 

_Weakness: ???_  
Signet: ???   
Treasure: not secured   
Map and Clue: has his own and Pansy’s   
Notes: Very persuasive, good liar, and has some sort of power of Pansy.  

She thought for a moment more and after realizing that she knew nothing else about the evasive Malfoy, Hermione put her notebook back where she got it from. She hesitantly walked over to her desk as an absurd thought occurred to her. 

_What the heck am I going to do with a diamond snake?_  

She snorted.  _Well, what do most people do with a diamond snake?_  She rolled her eyes and picked it up, the snake coiling up around her arm, emerald eyes almost coming alive. Hermione gasped as its nose, if snakes even have noses, touched hers, as if it was getting acquainted with her. Then it recoiled and shrunk until it was the same size that it had been in the beginning.  _Small. Harmless, and pretty._  Hermione scoffed.  _Yeah right._ She made a mental note to remind herself that anything by Draco Malfoy was bound to be more than it was.  _Maybe even the man himself._

Hermione shook the thought away.  _All that that git is…is a git._  
She smiled at her wittiness then hurried back over to her desk, replacing the snake necklace under her blouse, Where it should have been in the first place. She chided it mentally. She looked back at the Ship-ish map and noted that the ferret was coming from a totally different direction. She walked out of the cabin and shouted, “Anyone who isn’t helping Blaise in any way or fashion take up your posts and head due southeast. We’re heading for the island of Siramadra!” she quickly headed below decks to go check on Blaise. 

She quickly rushed down the stairs, passing by Daphne. “Is he doing ok?” she asked urgently. 

Daphne shrugged. “I fed him some soup, which he threw up minutes after. His body is rejecting everything. I’m afraid that he won’t mak--” 

Hermione shot a look at her. “Don’t even finish that sentence,” and brushed past her, rushing to Blaise’s bunk. “Blaise, Blaise. Are you ok?” she said, touching her hands to his face. She sat on a barrel beside him, and all of the others below left to go above and follow her orders. 

He opened his eyes, eyelids seeming to weigh a ton. “Been better.” he said, jokingly, voice weak. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Always the man of humor.” 

“I try.” he laughed, the sound quickly turning into a cough. “I’m not going to make it Hermione.” he said grimly, closing his eyes. “I can feel it seeping in my bones, running through my heart. It’s eating me inside. And it doesn’t feel like a game at all.” he finished. 

Hermione ran her hands through his hair, and cupped his face with her palms. “Open your eyes.” she whispered. 

He did. 

Hermione ran her fingers along his face, pulling the life from his eyes.  _He had to make it!_ “The day that you die is the day that books fall from the sky. And that’s never.” 

Blaise grinned feebly. “Who knows? But before I go, I want you to know that I wont forget you. No matter where those idiots at Hogwarts deport me to.” 

Hermione bit back tears, forcing them to the backs of her eyes. “You’re not going anywhere. Who else is going to plan on how to get the treasure with me? I need you, Zabini.” 

Blaise laughed, a pained sound. “I’d like to do something though,” he said to her, clasping her hands in his. “I swear my allegiance to you, no matter where I end up, no matter who I become in the next phase of the game, I’m yours.” 

He didn’t know exactly when it had happened. He thought that he was picky over his girls. After all, his aunt had divorced seven times! He wanted to learn from that. He had begun warming up to her, instead of the other way around. He actualy  _liked_ her. When he said he loved her, it was odd. He was just playing around. He knew that Hermione didn’t take it seriously. 

A tear fell down Hermione’s cheek, like the first drop of a summer rain. He winced, “Aw, Captain Hell, don’t cry. It’ll be good. You’ll see me again, don’t worry.” With an afterthought, he added, “You know, the day when I told you I loved you?” 

Hermione nodded. 

“It wasn’t true.” 

Hermione grinned dryly. “The world will end when a Slytherin professes his love to a Gryffindor.” 

“True point.” Blaise said, but what he was about to say next, Hermione couldn’t deduce. “But I like you. I like you,  _a lot,_  Hermione.” With those words, she watched the life fade from his eyes. 

Hermione whimpered as his hand grew slack. “I like you, too.” With her admission, he was gone. Hermione was at loss of words, for once in her life. She then did what other people usually did when they lost someone they cared for, she began to cry. 

After she was done, she went up onto the deck, and everyone knew. She didn’t have to say a word. 

Blaise was dead. 

She went up to Arthur Bower, a shy member of her crew, yet an extraordinary carpenter. “I need you to make a coffin with a sealed bottom. How soon can you be done?” 

His purple eyes mourned her out from under red eyebrows. “10 minutes tops.” and he ran out and brought supplies to the deck and began cutting and hammering away. 

No one made any sound, several of the girls cried, Thaddius came and put a comforting hand on Hermione’s shoulder. 

The soft summer breeze blew by, as if saying farewell to an old friend. Then a song began to float from the waters, not just the crash of waves against the ship, but an actual melody. 

“Sirens.” Thaddius whispered, although Hermione already knew. She let her soul sink into the song, the lilting melody picking up her spirit’s a little bit. In the book, Fliadopia, A History, it had written about sirens. They were only dangerous during mating season, which wasn’t anytime soon. Other than that, they were great conversationalists and sang lilting songs that were sad yet tinted with a bit of hope, lifting your spirits high. 

Hermione struggled not to cry as Thaddius, Sylvester, Author and Carson brought Blaise’s body up from below deck and placed him in the coffin. Hermione stopped him from nailing the lid shut and ran to her quarters for a minute. She quickly pulled out a handkerchief from her nightstand, cliché, she knew, and wrote in ink:

_Don’t forget us.  
~Lioness. _

And folded it quickly. She ran back out and placed it in his hand, refusing to look at his face. She nodded to Author who nailed the lid shut. The whole crew watched as the four boys tossed the casket overboard. Hermione held back a sob that threatened to escape her. 

The box floated further and further away. Then, A blue flash of light erupted brilliantly where the coffin had been and Hermione knew that he was safe- that he was back at Hogwarts and alright. 

Then she realized, _I’ve forgotten that it’s just a game. It’s so real…_  She shook her head lightly and brushed away her tears. “To Siramadra!” she yelled, jerking the crew back to reality. “We can’t waste time. He’d want us to go, and he sure as  _bloody hell_  would want us to win.” 

The crew agreed silently and took up their posts and set the ship due southeast. 

She took a step to the helm of the ship when the impossible happened. 

_A book fell from the sky._  

Hermione glanced at the brown leather book, obviously worn with age, her brow furrowing. 

Her fingers brushed across the title in bewilderment,  _Peter Pan?_  
She opened the book to something very different. Where the Title Page should have been was the most peculiar thing she had seen in her life. 

Upon reading the handwritten words, her mouth dropped open in shock. 

 

* * *

Blaise stumbled out of the portal and found himself in The Great Hall. He looked around for a sign of life, but found none. He went over to the silver doors of the portal and tried to open them. When he heard a big clanking he looked down and saw that a big lock had been put on them. He frowned. 

_Guess I can’t do anything else other than wait._  he thought, sitting down, slightly irritated.. 

“Well, well, Mr. Blaise. What are you doing here?” Professor Snape said, coming out of the shadows from the direction of the teachers table. 

“Well, I died, obviously, sir,”  _and apparently I ended up in Hell because you’re here to greet me._  But of course, being the prudent boy that he was, he didn’t add his thoughts to his reply. 

“Come here Mr. Blaise. Let’s dine, shall we?” the professor said., beckoning with a slight motion of his white hand. 

_Like hell I will._  Blaise stood up and took a seat across the Professor. “Where’s Professor McGonagall?” he asked looking longingly at the strawberry that suddenly appeared in front of him. I haven’t had strawberries since the game started. After a moment of severe debating going on in his mind, Blaisee gave in to his odd craving for the berry known as strawberry, picked up a fork and took a stab at one. 

“She is incapable of speech at the moment. She took a nasty fall earlier.” Snape said, giving nothing away. No one could ever know what he did. He even took the care of extracting that memory from the headmistress’s memories. “I do believe I’m supposed to do something about your scars, if you have ones that you wish to part with?” he asked dutifully. 

_Well, sure, I‘d love to part with them. I mean honestly, who would want to point to their stomach and say, ‘Oh yeah, this is from the time that Pansy Parkinson stabbed me and killed me. Great story, right?_ “No. I want to keep my scars, thank you.” Blaise answered. 

They ate in silence. Once Blaise was done eating his allotted strawberries, he inquired, “Sir, Professor, are you going to re-admit me into the game?” he asked anxiously, wanting to get back to the adventure. “I’d like to get back soon, if you don’t mind.” 

“If you want me too.” The Professor answered briskly. 

“I do.” Blaise replied surely. _Didn’t I just say I wanted to get back?_  
“Very well then.” Professor Snape said, walking over to the model of Fliadopia. His eyes swept over the map. His lips twitched in slight amusement when he saw the new action that was evolving on in the southern corner of the map. _Two ships, heading for the same destination. Two different houses. Interesting._  
“You were on Ms. Granger’s ship, were you not?” he asked, fully knowing the answer. 

_Yes I was, sir, and while I was there, I fell in like, watched her cry, and got stabbed by Pansy Parkinson, of all people. I’d rather get stabbed by a first year! Oh the horror. And then, there was all that bogus about bananas, and Thad’s singing was always incredible, and, oh wait, did I mention the time that I almost fell overboard and the sharks almost ate me? That was brilliant._  
Blaise did not reply. 

Professor Snape, after figuring out that his question was quite redundant, said, “I think I’ll put you on Mr. Malfoy’s. ship. The  _Silent Shadow,_  I believe he called it?” 

_No. It was called the Floating Sunshine_. Blaise thought, impatient to leave. 

The older man prattled on, “Mr. Malfoy would like that,” Professor Snape said with a slight smirk. He walked over to the doors and pulled a large silver key from his pocket and unlocked the padlock. He opened the door, which emitted a glow, and gestured for Blaise to go through. 

“Tell Draco that there’s a new book in the realms..” and the professor disappeared. Blaise stared at the spot where he had just been and shook his head slightly, as if he didn’t believe what was going on. 

He had just  _died_ for Merlin’s sake! 

He shook his head and stepped through the portal, wondering where this cursed game would take him next. 

 

* * *

__

__

 

__

 

_The Art of Dark Transfigurations: by Minerva McGonagall._  

Hermione’s brow puzzled over this as she stepped into her private quarters. She flipped the page, to read about the first spell in the book when a tapping erupted on her window. 

She closed the book, agitated. “What else could possibly happen today?” Hermione walked over the window, unfixed the latch, and yanked it open. 

Her eyes opened wide. A nantchuket. For her. She grinned slightly and let the creature in, grabbing some dried fruits from a tray on desk. The small animal perched on the windowsill, in all of its glory. 

Hermione took a moment to classify all of it’s features in her mind. It was small, fast, black, and a lightning shaped scar covered its mane. Hermione’s first thought was of Harry, who too, had a lightning shaped scar. 

“What have you got for me?” she cooed, making a small bed for the creature. 

It glided over to her gracefully and nodded it’s head to where it’s pouch was. She smiled and pulled out a letter, addressed to her. She looked at the seal, and her eyes went wide. It was from the king!!! She could just tell by the snitch imprint! 

The Nantchuket scampered off the bed that she had made him and set off for his nap as Hermione ripped the seal and opened the letter to Harry’s familiar writing. 

_Hermione,_

_It’s been such a long time. I know that I’m not supposed to be contacting you at all, I’m supposed to be trying to kill you (sorry, rules are rules, but you know I think that they were meant to be broken). You’re probably frowning at my idiocy, (she totally was) but I just had to write to you. Everything here at town is amazing. I mean, I know I get first class, but I’ve disguised myself several times as a commoner and went out and it’s sooo different from what we’ve been introduced to. It really is real. There’s so many extras here, people that I’ve never met. There are all these old people in court, Neville and Luna have been getting along and everyone is “courting” everyone else. Except for Ron. All he does it talk about you. It’s driving me up the wall. All that anyone does around him is hear about how wonderful you are and I thought that I should let you know. Maybe you could write him or contact him or something? It’s getting a little-bit annoying. Other than that, Everything’s great. How’s it feel to be a pirate?_

_~Harry_

Hermione re-read the letter. Especially the part about Ron. Her brow furrowed. She had told Ron that she didn’t like him like that before he left. She had…. And he obviously thought it was some ploy to make him love her more.  _Brilliant._  Hermione shook her head slightly and scribbled back a reply. 

_Harry,_

_I told Ron after the war, (and before that, and before the time I told him before the war, and on many other numerous occasions) that I would never like him like that. He’s like a brother to me. You know that. Tell him that I said ‘Hi‘, and to set his sites on someone else. I’m going to win this game, Harry, and I’m going to apologize right now for anything that I do that seems out of character, and I don’t want to hurt our friendship, so you’ll have to forgive me in advance. Pirating is fun, it’s a whole different life and I’m really happy that I wasn’t a lady. The life of a lady must be very boring. And about writing these letters to me, I hope you know what you’re doing. I won’t get punished for this, but you would. So be careful. How’s being a king?_

_~Hermione_  
   
She woke up the little Nantucket. “Time to go little one.” she said, petting its little body. She tucked the letter in the pouch and fed it a piece of chocolate. It nuzzled in her hand and looked her in the eye. For the strangest reason, Hermione felt like crying at the little creatures departure. It looked back once more and then disappeared out the window. Hermione hugged herself and watched it go She stood by the window for several minutes, watching the world pass by wave, after wave, after wave... 

The clouds sailed the sky merrily, seagulls chasing after one another playfully. 

Her eyes jolted open.  _Seagulls?_  

She threw the door of her private quarters back and stepped outside into the blinding sunlight. It was not yet afternoon. The morning’s activities and Blaise’s death had made it seem like it had been a whole day. 

“Land ho, Captain!” Thaddius bellowed. 

She rushed onto the deck and stood at the helm, taking in the site before her. 

 

* * *

Blaise landed on Draco’s ship with a jolt. His eyes danced among the non-familiar ships surfaces, taking in its unusual property of seeming like a shadow- almost there, yet almost not. He shook his head slightly, walking over to the railing, looking at the Island that was featured by the view from the starboard side. He held the rail with his strong hands and closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the cold atmosphere of this ship. 

Draco walked out of his cabin into the afternoon air. He had just eaten lunch down in the galley and was getting ready to make rowboat for the island. They had finally reach Siramadra. Draco felt a rush of victory.  _I am first!_  he smirked as he bit into his green apple. He chewed, a slight drop of juice dribbling out the left corner of his lip. He was about to swallow, when he saw a familiar, yet not familiar figure on the railing. The figure turned to him, and Draco’s eyes went wide when he saw who it was. 

Then he choked. 

A fit of coughing later,  _Bloody Apple,_  Draco thought, cursing the fruit with all his might. “Blaise! What are you doing here?” 

Blaise smiled as he walked over to his friend and they embraced, like old friends do. “I died, and got sent here.” 

Draco’s face paled slightly. “Who killed you?” he said, leading the conversation up to the helm of the ship. 

“You would never believe it. Hermione and I were just returning from plundering--” 

“Granger?” Draco asked, a little too quickly. “What were you doing with her?” he said incredulously as he put his hand on the wheel of the ship, his pale hand contrasting with the shadowy demeanor of the ship. 

“Can I finish my story?” Blaise asked, tone defensive and guarded. 

“Not until you tell me what you were doing with Granger.” he replied briskly. 

“Since you’re being so adamant about it, I guess I’ll tell you. I was part of her crew these past…however long has past. She and I became really good friends,” he said with a pained voice, but Draco missed it, “thus the use of her first name. We had just finished plundering Parkinson’s ship, when---” 

But Draco, being the obvious interjector that he was, and to the rising irritation of Blaise, asked, “Friends? With Granger? That’s a joke, right? And Parkinson? You attacked her ship? When was this, she never told me anything about that!” 

Blaise looked at his friend with an odd face. He decided to ignore the first three questions, and therefore, commenced to the fourth. “Yes, Parkinson. She fought Hermione most of the time, I was Hermione’s second, so I got to watch the fight. They’re both really good swordswomen. You wouldn’t think so until you with them. Granger taught me everything I know. Pansy couldn’t have told you about it, because she was a little…tied up at that moment.” he took the pause after this to chuckle to himself. 

“ Anyways, back to my story that you were  _so excited_  about hearing earlier,” he said, shooting a glare at Draco, who smirked and turned his attention on finding a spot to park his ship. “We had just finished plundering Parkinson’s ship, we were just leaving, when I felt a hot spot on my stomach and--” 

“By all means, keep talking!” Draco said, covering a yawn “I always yawn when I’m interested.” he finished with a mock-tired attitude. 

“Oh, shut up, Draco.” Blaise continued, “  _As_  I was saying, she had pulled a dagger from her boot and had thrown it into my stomach as I was swinging off her ship. Granger tired to keep me alive…but couldn’t.  _Darling_ Pansy had poisoned her blade before slicing me with it.” he finished bitterly, hand tracing the scar on his stomach. 

“She was always a merry murderess at heart.” Draco said. “All sickly sweet with her perfect nails and then  _BAM._  You’re gone.” he finished. “But now, Blaise, if you’ll pardon me, that’d be great.” he said, excusing himself. “ I have to get a couple more things before part of my crew and I leave to win this blasted game. You can come if you want.” 

_Hermione will be somewhere out there_. Blaise thought. “I’d like that.” 

“Then I’ll see you here on deck in 5 minutes, then. But till then, you can take a look around.” said Draco, tapping an imaginary hat and taking his leave, leaving Blaise with one thought.  _He’d make a better gentleman than a pirate_. He shook the thought away, seeing that Draco felt completely home on this shadow of a ship. He stepped from the helm and proceeded to do what his best friend had told him to.  _Look around._  
   


* * *

Hermione looked at the amazing Island before her. A large cliff rose out of the side on the point of the island, the other side was simply a shore. She looked closer and saw that a stream flowed through the island. Most likely has fresh water somewhere. she thought offhandedly, taking in the lush vegetation. She smiled at her crew that had gathered by her. “Looks like this is it crew! Down to the life boats, and lets go and find this treasure!” 

She had previously, in the daily meetings that she held, informed them of most of what she knew. She couldn’t tell them everything, she was going to avoid all chances of anything relating to a mutiny. They knew the situation. Draco’s crew was here too. They all had to be quiet. She had left 7 of her crew behind, taking 5 with her. Thaddius, Susan, Silvester, Jem, and Daphne went with her. Blaise should have been here. she thought, pained.  _If only I hadn’t failed him. I wasn’t careful enough. If I loose anyone today….._ She instantly cut off that thread of thought.  _That will NOT happen.  
 _  
She shook her head, threw her rucksack over her shoulder, made sure she had her sword and stepped into the lifeboat with her selected. She looked each one into the eyes. ’We are going to win. We must be careful. You know the stakes, you know the situation. We are  _silence itself_ , understand?” she said forcefully, demandingly, leaving no room for questions. 

No one said a word. The lifeboat was then lowered. 

Hermione watched her ship get smaller as they rowed towards the island. She then looked at the island that loomed larger with each passing second, beckoning her ship. 

Finally, the evasive island where it would all end. 

_Siramadra._   


* * *

 

 

Draco jumped into the rowboat with a huge smile on his face and took a seat next to Blaise. “Let me introduce the crew of the rowboat. That,” he said, pointing to a redhead boy with green eyes, “ Is John Lawson. The one sitting beside him there, that’s Tony Triggerson. The girl--” 

“I can introduce myself.” Raven said snappily, completely over her captains good-looks. She turned her eyes to Blaise and smiled. He found that he didn’t like it all. “I’m Raven Trapper.” 

Blaise looked her over quickly, noticing the many hidden weapons on her person. ‘Nice to meet you.”  _Not._

She had noticed him looking her over. “I’m harmless really, no need to be frightened.”

“Oh, I’m not.” he replied, smirking. 

“This is e _xcellent_. No one else is on the island, we’re the first ones to come, and we’re sure to win.” Draco said confidently. 

A chorus of agreements came from the other three in the little boat. Blaise looked at him, a dark eyebrow raised. “Don’t be so sure.” 

Draco threw his friend a look. “Oh come on, what could  _possibly_  happen?” 

Blaise remained silent.  _Hermione’s gonna kick your tail if you don’t watch out._  But of course, being the great, encouraging friend that he was, he didn’t say that. 

Draco leaned back against the ship, closing his eyes and savoring the feel of the warm sun on his skin. He smirked.  _It’s so blissfully perfect. I’m going to win today. No doubt about it._  
His eyes opened as a shadow fell over his face, he looked up at the island that loomed up over them. His smirk grew wider. 

At last. 

_Siramadra._  


	8. The Flower Monster

All the pieces were put together. Pansy and Grant were fighting in the north-east part of the map, mused Hermione as she looked at her map. A grating sound of sand against wood brought her out of her thoughts and brought her to reality.   
  
They were on the shore of the island. of Siramadra. Hermione wiped her sweaty hands on her breeches. “OK.” she began. “This is the plan.” she said, looking at Thaddius, Susan, Silvester, Jem, and Daphne as they all stepped out of the tiny boat. “I can’t delay this any longer: If I die,”   
  
“Which, you won’t.” Thaddius said, grinning like an idiot.   
  
_“If_  I die,” Hermione continued, “ I’m leaving Susan in charge.” She then proceeded to tell them some other need-to-knows when Thaddius slapped his head, his hand coming from his forehead with a squashed bug. He grinned even bigger, his eyes shining. “I’m a NINJA!” he yelled, taking an exaggerated warrior stance.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Thad, you need to--”   
  
“Do NOT call me that  _disgusting_ name!” he said with an outrageous Swedish accent. “I am a NINJA WARRIOR! GGGGAHAHAHA!” he finished with mock disdain.   
  
“Shut up Thaddius or I’m going to make you eat the fly that you just squished on your forehead.” Susan said seriously.   
  
The grin slipped off of Thaddius’ face, but the mischievousness lingered in his eyes. “Tasty.”   
  
Hermione pulled out the map of the island. “Well, lets go!” she said, stepping onto the beautiful white sand. And before she remembered what one of the clues said, the sand snared up and grabbed onto her ankle.   
  
“Don’t scream.” Hermione said quietly, trying to calm her fluttering heart. “ _Beware of the pretty sand/It will grab you in a moment/Find the 7 humps in line.”_  she recited, as the sand started relaxing, but yet, holding firm on her ankle.   
  
Sylvester looked over the sand and grinned. He pointed, “There they are!” he said, pointing to 7 lumps in the sand, going in the direction of the jungle that dusted the edges of the shore. Hermione pulled her foot up slightly and the sand tried to hold firm, but it loosened just a bit.   
  
Hermione nodded to her friends. “On the count of three, I’m going to go, and hop the 7 humps. If I make it through, one of you, follow me. I’ll wait at the edge of the trees.” The group nodded.   
  
“One, two…”   
  
“Three!” Hermione wrenched her foot from the sand and planted both feet on the ground. 5 more sand snakes reared from their home and launched themselves at her. Hermione jumped out of the way and onto the first hump, then to the second. It wasn’t that hard-but the snakes were a really great distraction. Hermione jumped from on to the other, snake almost grabbing her thigh at one point.   
  
She gasped for air once she reached the third hump. There was about 7 yards from her to the edge of the jungle. Before another snake could launch after her, she sprinted to the end of the strip of land, sand snakes popping up wherever her feet had landed the moment before.. She kicked up sand and then leaped onto the grass that dusted the edge between the shore and the jungle.   
  
She held her breath as the snakes turned from her and slithered across the sand. She looked, wide-eyed, to her crew. Susan looked at the writhing snakes and jumped from the boat to the first hump. After Susan made it through, Thaddius followed. Daphne, too, made it without incident. Silvester was the only one left. He hopped to the 5th lump one without incident. The 6th lump, however, was a whole different story.   
  
Just as he jumped, his gold hair bouncing in the wind, a snake grabbed onto his ankle, bringing him down to the sand between the 5th and 6th lump. Almost instantly, all of the snakes that had appeared during his jumps, launched themselves on him. His screams were covered by the grains of sand filling his mouth. Susan bounced forward, but Hermione held her back. Susan thrashed in her arms, but the captain was relentless. Thaddius stared in horror as his friend was covered by sand, until only his hand was seen, reaching towards the sun. Hermione turned her face away, Susan covered her eyes. Thaddius turned completely around.   
  
A flash of blue light filled the air.   
  
The sand snakes began to shriek in glee, and began a dance of victory. Hermione took Susan’s shoulder linked arms with Daphne, who hugged Thaddius’ shoulder. Together, they walked away from the scene, none of them saying a word.   
  
The trees loomed high over their heads, and a strange silence cast its web over the island.   
  
Hermione blew her hair, which was getting slightly frizzy, out of her face. She looked forward through the dense trees, her companions following quietly. The trees here were very tall, and very thick- the plants seemed as if they wanted to wrap themselves around their legs. Thaddius skipped ahead of Hermione. Susan rolled her eyes, and proceeded to say something, but before she could, Thaddius let out a small yelp- a sound that exploded into the air like a gunshot.   
  
The whole group stilled.   
  
No one moved.   
  
Then, a rumble came from one of the trees nearby. All heads snapped to that direction. The tree to their right, the biggest tree, was opening at it’s center. Hermione’s eyes puzzled as her crew’s were glazed in awe. The tree was molding itself into an entrance to something. After about 30 seconds, the tree was finally finished. It had become a circle, with a shimmering black entrance. They stared at it in wonder.   
  
“So, who wants to go into the creepy tree first?”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry rubbed his eyes twice at the sight before him. _I have got to be hallucinating!_    
  
“No Mr. Potter, you are not hallucinating, so stop rubbing your eyes.” Professor McGonagall stated sharply. She looked at the boy who had become king, holding the covers over his bare upper body. Harry reached for his glasses, and slipped them on.   
  
“What… What are you doing here?” Harry said, stuttering, as if having a professor in one’s bedroom was a quite normal thing these days….   
  
_Right._    
  
“I just wanted to tell you that you should keep a closer eye on your signet.”   
  
“Why?” he asked, bewildered.   
  
“Because,” the professor stated as if it was a valid reason, “It is far more important than you think it is.”   
  
Harry sat up a little straighter. “I think it’s important! That’s why I have it in the safest place--”   
  
“In your nightstand?” she said skeptically, with her eyebrow raised. “ _Safe._  Yes, I can see that.” she finished with an edge in her voice. “Also, no one here is your friend, Mr. Potter. Except maybe for Mr. Weasley.”   
  
“But what about Hermion-”   
  
“People  _change_  in this game, Potter. They will do  _anything_  to win it. I do not believe that Mr. Weasley has any intentions of winning this game, and therefore will not turn about on your friendship to do so. Ms. Granger, however, has the  _means_  to win. However, she may not choose to act on it, but she is already almost a quarter of the way to winning.”   
  
“So what you’re saying is that Hermione would turn on a six year friendship just so she could win a game?” he stated, anger slipping into his usually dulcet tones.   
  
“All that I am saying, is that you should be careful and be aware that the Machiavellian theory is a girl’s greatest weapon.”   
  
And then she was gone.   
  
Harry pinched himself.   
  
_Nope. Not dreaming. So_ …   
  
“What in  _bloody hell_  was that all about?” he asked aloud.   
  
Silence was his only answer .   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione stepped through shining black film only to find herself in the heart of the tree. She looked around the circular space, finding nothing, until she saw an etching on the wall. She leaned in forward with excitement and read:   
  
_Over the shore and to the right  
Towards the rock of great might   
To the little cove of green   
Garden smiling, snakes so mean   
Open land, seems so dense   
Watch out for the fire fence   
Past here, only one may go   
Over the bridge of swing and tow   
Tell the rock your favorite song   
Tell a poem- don’t go wrong   
Or you’ll be lost, forever more   
And then you’ll never again see this shore   
Step forward once, twice from the back   
Sing your song, the stone will crack   
A hole in grey, hard in hue   
A chest comes forward, will you be true?   
Watch the lock, is it for you? _  
  
Hermione took out her wand and copied the words. She then proceeded to paste them into her notebook that she had in her back-pack. She jumped back through the portal entrance and quickly told the three of her discovery.   
  
“But, right here- where it says only one may go…” Susan began hesitantly. “Does that mean that….?”   
  
“Yes.” Hermione said, finishing Susan’s unfinished thought. “It means only one of us will see the treasure.”   
  
An uncomfortable silence filled the air.   
  
“I trust you Captain Hell.” Thaddius said brightly. Susan nodded, as did Daphne.   
  
Hermione smiled back awkwardly. “I guess, we should go on, and find this garden. It’s written here,” she said, pointing to the second line “That we have to go in the direction of the great rock. I’m assuming that’s the big cliff that we saw on her way here.” she said, looking, but not seeing through the trees. She turned her eyes to Thaddius, smiling.   
  
“Why are you looking at me like that?” The next second, he found himself hovering above the trees. He looked down. “What in Merlin?” he shouted to the canopy that was at his feet.   
  
“LUCKAWERDACIFS!” came a shout from below.   
  
His brow furrowed. “CAN YOU REPEAT THAT AGAIN?” he shouted.   
  
“LOKERACIFIS!”   
  
Once again, not a formidable reply at all.   
  
“SORRY? DIDN’T CATCH THAT?”   
  
“LOOK…..AT…..WHERE…..THE……CLIFF……IS….!” a chorus of female voices yelled. He grinned in understanding and swiveled around in the air. _The view is so great up here. What I wouldn’t give to have a penthous---”_  
And he was jerked to the ground- the leaves slapping his face merrily.. “What was that for?” he asked, sad that his day-dream was interrupted. _Girls….agh._    
  
“To which direction is the cliff?” Hermione asked, grinning at the pout on Thaddius’s face. “He pointed to the left of her. Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Thad.”   
  
_“How many times do I have to tell you?”_  he said, exasperated. “I am a NINJA WARRIOR! “AGHAHAHA!…..Remember?”   
  
Susan rolled her eyes. “What I wouldn’t give to have that fly.” she said to Daphne.   
  
Hermione grinned. “To the left!” she said in a very captain like manner and headed that direction. The three followed her at a distance. Thaddius didn’t skip.   
  
After a long while….   
  
“Are we there yet?” Thaddius asked for the 945th time.   
  
“NO!” Susan and Daphne shouted in unison for the 944th time.   
  
They had ignored him the first time. After that, It just got a  _little_  annoying.   
  
Daphne ran her hands through her dark, tangled hair in frustration. Her navy blue eyes snapped in the direction of Thaddius. “We’ll get there when we get there!”   
  
“I think this is it!” Hermione whispered excitedly. Daphne’s eyes went big.   
  
In front of them was a big entrance, two trees bowed in to make a heart shaped entrance. Thaddius, for once, stayed silent.   
  
Hermione stepped through, Susan on her heels. “Watch out for the snake--”   
  
But before she could finish, Susan gasped in horror, cutting of Hermione’s sentence. Daphne was being pulled into a wall by snakes. Not sand snakes- and not leaf snakes- but  _real bonafied_  snakes. Daphne didn’t even have time to scream. There was a flash of blue light, and she was gone.   
  
Hermione didn’t even take time to mourn the girls death. She grabbed Thaddius’s hand and yanked Susan’s arm and they ran through the garden. After several minutes of running, Hermione figured out the grim truth.   
  
They were in a maze.   
  
….   
  
_Brilliant,_  thought Hermione.  _Just when it can’t get any worse_. She put her wand on her left hand. “Point me!” she said demandingly, thinking of the cliff. Susan and Thaddius stood behind her, looking over her shoulder as her wand pointed to the path to the right of them. They headed down that path, only to reach a dead end. No-one touched the leafy walls for fear of disappearing.   
  
They turned back, and after about an hour and a bucketful of sweat, it started to rain. Hermione looked up at the sky in irritation. “Have some mercy? Will you?!?” she shouted. Thaddius grinned, trying to catch raindrops on his tongue.   
  
She looked over at Susan and took a left, squinting through the rain. Thaddius held Susan’s hand who held Hermione’s hand as she led them through the maze, agonizing turn after agonizing turn.  _The bloody rain doesn’t help any._    
  
As they took the next path after coming back from a dead end, a bright light hit them in the face. Thaddius yelped for joy. “AND WE’RE OUT OF HERE!”   
  
Hermione laughed and ran for the light, Thaddius and Susan behind her, when the light was suddenly blocked by a figure.   
  
Hermione’s eyes widened as yanked her friends back and ran back into the maze, hoping that the rain would shield them.   
  
“Draco! There are  _people_  in there!”   
  
Hermione didn’t wait to hear the reply. Normally, she would never run from an amazing bouncing ferret, but in this case….she made an exception. After throwing a dagger at another figure that had shown up in the light. A figure with hair as light as the blinding shine that surrounded it.   
  
And..   
  
_I’d really rather not die right now._    
  
Hermione felt a strong sense of betrayal to her house as she ran away from her worst enemy, other than chocolate of course. Not that Hermione was one to worry about her weight. Or that chocolate was the root of all evil. Because she was running away from a Malfoy in a maze, and there was no way out.   
  
There is also no way to escape a determined bouncing ferret.   
  
_Game Over._    
  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco was very upset indeed. His ice grey eyes flashed in irritation as Raven continued to complain about their ‘primitive surroundings.’   
  
Those so called ‘primitive surroundings’ had managed to gobble up two of his crew in five short minutes.   
  
_Bloody Island._    
  
John had gotten eaten by the Flower monster…   
  
And Travis fell down the invisible whirlpool.   
  
_This bloody Merlin-forsaken piece of demented land is not playing fair._ Draco thought, agitated. He thought this was going to be easy!  _For real, invisible whirlpools? How is someone supposed to avoid those? And flower monsters? You can’t be serious!_ Obviously this Island was all seriousness.   
  
Poor John was allergic to pollen.  _Oh yes, life in Fliadopia is a paradise!_ Draco thought sarcastically.  _The perfect vacation spot. Let's go admire the FLOWERS shall we?!?_  
The island was outwardly beautiful. Fruits that they had never seen before in their lives, grew on trees and bushes of various sizes. They had passed by several water falls and a river that split the island in half. It was like one of those places that you would go to on vacation for with the margarita’s and tiki umbrellas.  _Those are the best._  
“Why did you take me here in the first place Draco? This is torture!” Raven whined.   
  
“If you don’t shut your trap, Trapper, I’ll shut it for you.” Blaise said, suppressed anger beating at the glass of his voice cage, trying to get out. Blaise looked over at Draco. “How long do you think she’ll last?” he said, tipping his head in the Queen of Complaint’s Direction.   
  
“Hopefully not long,” Draco muttered, dodging out of the way of a black snake that slithered on the jungle floor. It paused to look up at him, with its beady eyes.   
  
“What was that?” Blaise asked, pretending he hadn’t heard. He swept the beads of sweat that had begun to form off of his forehead. It was getting really hot and humid. Blaise looked up at the sky. It looks like it’s going to rain soon.   
  
“I said, I hope the flower monster decides to take another visit. Maybe it likes idiots? Idiots with dirty blonde hair and green eyes is today’s special. I’d just like to take it’s order.”   
  
“What are you guys talking about?’ Raven said, having to take two steps to their one to catch up.   
  
“The weather.” Blaise said, his voice dropping down to a low whisper. “If it gets any hotter, we might just…well, I don’t know…  _die_!” he finished dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air.   
  
She looked at Draco’s smirking face.. Then at Blaise’s slightly maniacal one. His hands were still in the air.. “You  _can’t_  be serious.” she said, sounding so sure of herself. She put her hands on her hips, smirking slightly.   
  
“Oh, but we’re perfectly serious.” Draco said nonchalantly, slightly amused at her stupidity. “You’re in Ravenclaw, right?”   
  
The smirk on her lips blurred slightly. “So?”   
  
_Speaking of stupidity…_  “Do you by chance happen to be friends with a girl named Pansy Parkinson?”   
  
Raven rolled her eyes. “Well of  _course_ I do. Who  _isn’t_ friends with her?”   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Typical.” Any girl like Raven was bound to be friends with Pansy.   
  
Raven huffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?   
  
“It means, can you just shut up for a minute and go scout around? Maybe you’ll find a nail file to trim your nails?”   
  
The offended girl rolled her eyes and stalked ahead of them.   
  
“Remind me why we brought her again?” Blaise asked.   
  
“Entertainment.” Draco said evenly. “But it’s getting old.”   
  
Blaise looked at him incredulously. “You’re  _kidding_  right?  _Entertainment_?”   
  
“Yeah, I was kidding.” his friend admitted. “She’s pretty good with her dagger work- actually, the best I’ve seen in this bloody world. Excluding me, of course.” he added with a smirk.   
  
“You, my friend, are what we call ‘full of yourself.’” Blaise said, slightly amused.   
  
“And your point is…?”   
  
“It’s horrendously unattractive.” Blaise said, hoping to wipe the smirk off of his friend’s face.   
  
He wasn’t successful.   
  
“And it makes you look like a conceited prat.”   
  
The smirk still stayed. After all, it was a legendary Malfoy trait, and as far as traits go, it was as stubborn as a mole on Merlin’s chinny-chin-chin. It could withstand insults, flying ice-cream, and on occasion, falling trees. It also had the power to infuriate people to no end. Take this argument for example:   
  
“I just insulted your looks and your social status. WHY ARE YOU STILL SMIRKING?” Blaise said, slightly frustrated that his efforts weren’t paying off.   
  
“ _Because,_  my friend,” he said with a sparkle in his eyes and the amazing legendary smirk on his luscious lips, “I  _still_ get the ladies.”   
  
Blaise rolled his eyes, almost tripping over a large tree root. “This argument is  _not_ valid!”   
  
“Oh, but of course it is!:” Draco replied smugly.   
  
“Just because you get more ladies, doesn’t mean that you’re more of a man than me.”   
“It doesn’t mean just that, it also means that you’re more of a girl than me.”   
  
“Draco….end of conversation.”   
  
“Only if you forfeit the argument and admit that I am more of a man than you.”   
  
“This coming from a boy-turned ferret?” Blaise asked incredulously. “Oh yeah,” he said sarcastically, “I can _definitely_  see how you’re more of a man than me.”   
  
The first drop of rain landed with a SPLAT on Draco’s cheek. It then promptly began to pour. The conversation/argument/quarrel of testosterone continued, only slightly dampened by the rain.   
  
“Now that, Blaise, is an argument that is not valid.”   
  
“Oh yes it is. If your argument gets to be valid, then mine gets to be as well.” he replied.   
  
_You get turned into a ferret_ once _and none one_ ever _lets you live it down_. He thought, slightly irritated. “I’m still more of a man than you.“   
  
“And you know this how?“ Blaise said, his voice trailing off slightly.   
  
The smirk flickered for a moment. Blaise smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thou--”   
  
“I’m taller.” Draco drawled, confidence back in his gaze and smirk going on full power mode.   
  
Blaise growled in irritation. “Oh, of  _course_! Dear me, how could I have  _forgotten_? The ‘just-cause-I’m-a-26th-of-an-inch-taller-than-you-that-means-that-I’m-more-of-a-man-than-you’ argument. My _favorite_.” he finished sarcastically.   
  
This was not the first time that they had this conversation. More like every year since 4th year. OK, maybe once a month every single year…. _Fine. Once a week, but really, who cares?_  Blaise thought. It made him feel manly to defend his ever frail testosterone level.   
  
“Please Blaise, don’t be jealous just because you’re short and not as much of a man as me.” Draco said.   
  
“You’re maturity is completely blowing my mind at the moment.”   
  
“And your ignorance of my superior manliness is blowing mine.”   
  
“You’re missing the point!.” Blaise replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the whole world.   
  
“No, this is what I’ve been trying to tell you the whole time!” Draco said, exasperated to no end. But since he was one that never shows his emotions…except for extreme annoyance, his smirk retained it’s permanent-stick charm. He continued. “The point is, is that I am more of a man than you, and despite all of my ‘one day adventures’, that will never change, and finishing off on that matter, my--”   
  
“Draco!”   
  
“The queen beckons!” Blaise said with charmingly sarcastic enthusiasm. They both looked at the subject in question, Her dirty blonde hair now soaked by the pouring rain.   
  
“What?” Draco shouted back, raindrops falling steadily on his blonde hair, matting it to his forehead.   
  
“Draco! There are  _people_  in there!”   
  
His eyebrows shot up. “No.” he looked at Blaise. “Absolutely not.”   
  
Blaise didn’t meet Draco’s eyes.   
  
“Blaise. You can’t be serious.”   
  
Blaise remained silent.   
  
“Tell me  _now_.”   
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Blaise said. “Perhaps we should go see what Trapper is talking about.” Blaise started jogging towards the girl ahead of them.   
  
Draco stored away the conversation for further prodding. He, too, ran up to Raven, quickly observing where they were. It was hedge fence. _Rather odd, seeing this here_. He thought.   
  
“You must be hallucinating Trapper” Draco said, squinting into the entrance of the hedge before them.   
  
“I’m serious!” she protested, pointing to the opening. “Three people were  _in_ there!”   
  
Draco pondered on it for a moment, letting the rain swirl down the rivers that draped the counter of his face. “Trapper- in all honesty, I don’t think--”   
  
A dagger whizzed right before his eyes.   
  
“You were  _actually_ being honest. Good for you.” He finished hastily, pulling out his cutlass. The rain began to let up slightly, the constant drumming becoming a pitter patter on the leaves surrounding them.   
  
A smirk curled at the right corner of his lips.   
  
_The game was just beginning._    
  
“And I’m going to win.” Draco whispered to himself, entering the maze, cutlass brandished and at the ready.   
  
“Don’t be so sure.” Blaise said.   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Come on Blaise, What could  _possibly_ happen?”


	9. The Lock

The trio ran and ran until they were, once again, lost in the maze.   
  
A running Hermione looked at Susan and Thaddius, as they reached a dead end in the maze. “We have to split up!” she said, feverishly.   
  
All three of them were panting, and clutching at stitches in their sides. They were quite a trio.   
  
“What? Are you kidding me? “ Susan asked. “Thaddius couldn’t survive out here for his life!” She said, motioning her hand in the direction of the blue-eyed, brown haired, and only boy to her right.   
  
Hermione raised a brow and looked pointedly at her.   
  
One could practically see the comprehension dawn on her face.   
  
“Merlin’s Beard. NO!” Susan all but yelled. “ Absolutely not! You are not abandoning me to baby-sit him!”   
  
Hermione clenched her fists. “We don’t have time to argue about this!”   
  
“Umm, ladies? Could you please quit talking about me as if I wasn’t here? Because, it may have skipped your notice, but I am, in fact, present.” Thaddius said, slightly agitated, rubbing a stitch out of his side. He leaned up against one of the leafy walls, but then decided against it. One of them had been eaten by snakes already. He didn‘t want to be next..   
  
The leafy walls swayed slightly, almost as if they were dancing with the wind. Flowers began to shrink into themselves, the leaves were trembling with anger at the fact that their home was being invaded. Thaddius shuddered.   
  
“I have to do this alone, you all know what the riddle said!” Hermione said with pleading honey eyes.   
  
Susan glared at her captain for a moment, but then it faded. “Fine.” she grabbed Thaddius, and they were off, down another path in the maze.   
  
“And don’t forget the plans that we made if the worst should happen!” she called after them.   
  
Just as Susan was dragging her charge, Thaddius looked back at Hermione and winked, wiggling his eyebrow’s in Susan’s direction. “Good luck Captain Hell, and don‘t worry about the worst! It WON’T happen!” he shouted. Hermione fought to hide her grimace and waved until the bickering couple was gone. Making sure that they were out of site, she sprinted off into another direction, blasting her way though the maze.   
  
 _Maybe if he had shouted a little louder, the whole kingdom of Fliadopia would’ve heard it!_  Hermione thought, exasperated. She panted as she fought her way though some vines that had overgrown an opening in the maze.   
  
That was when she heard it.   
  
A soft, padding sound.   
  
 _Footsteps._  Pounding like her beating heart… pounding right out of her chest. Hermione held her breath, pushing herself further into the trees.   
  
It was the voice that almost made her heart piss on itself.   
  
“Come on Granger. Why don’t you come out now, and surrender? That way I won’t have to kill you?” There was a pause in which Hermione knew was left for her to answer, but she pressed her lips together, refusing to answer.   
  
“Blaise and Trapper are after your little friends. I‘ll tell them to have mercy, if you reveal yourself.”   
  
The cold, relaxed, drawl sent a chill racing up her spine. If they were in Hogwarts, and she had her full-capacity wand, she would be fine, but in the middle of a maze with a Malfoy… _That was downright scary._  
And rumor had it that he was the best in the land with his sword.   
  
 _Rumors_ , Hermione thought, reassuring herself,  _are not necessarily true_. She inched backwards, slowly, hoping that a branch wouldn’t crack under her foot as it did in so many cliché movies. Luckily, lucky luck was on her side, and nothing happened. Judging from the sounds of his footsteps, he went down a different path.   
  
“Tsk Tsk Granger. Running and hiding are we?” Draco shook his head. “Not much like a Gryffindor… Tell me, where is this Hufflepuff-ish-ness coming from?”   
  
Hermione could practically imagine the smirk that had contorted his face, his body tense like a cats, stalking it’s prey. Which was, most unluckily, her. Suddenly, Hermione digested what he had said in his first sentence.  _Blaise was reassigned to Malfoy’s ship?_ Her brain began asking her questions, but she shook them away.  _I don’t have time for this._  
The next time Draco spoke, it was further away. Hermione took a deep breath and did her best to pull out the riddle out of her pocket. She found an alcove in the vines and read it feverishly. She needed to know exactly where she was going once she got out of this maze. If Draco was as determined as the whole world said that he was, she wouldn’t have but a 30 second head start.   
  
Luckily, Hermione had run track when she was 10. Good lot of help that does me now. Hermione thought, as she successfully pulled out the parchment without making a sound. Her eyes scanned the lines as she read through and did her best to memorize what she didn’t know of it already. She discarded the parts of the poem that she already knew she had experienced, All that was left of the poem, once she finished analyzing it was this:   
  
 _Open land, seems so dense  
                                                  Watch out for the walls, the fence   
                                                         Past here, only one may go   
                                                    Over the bridge of swing and tow   
                                                      Tell the rock your favorite song   
                                                       Tell a poem- don’t go wrong   
                                                     Or you’ll be lost, forever more   
                                            And then you’ll never again see this shore   
                                              Step forward once, twice from the back   
                                                Clap your hands, the stone will crack   
                                                       A hole in grey, hard in hue   
                                         A chest comes forward, will you be true?   
                                                      Watch the lock, is it for you? _  
  
 _Ok. So. Once I get out of this maze, I need to find the open field that will make me feel like I’m crowded. After that, I have to jump a fence of fire, then I need to walk over a bridge that swings, then I have to sing my favorite song to a rock, then tell it a poem. Step forward once, and twice back, then the stone should crack to reveal a what….a hole in grey….what’s a hole in a rock? Umm…..umm… AHA! A Cave !!_    
  
Hermione thought excitedly. She put the riddle back into her water-proof pack as quickly as silence allowed her too. She climbed out of the niche and drew her cutlass, a metallic ring penetrating the air for a single moment. When no one said a word, Hermione progressed through the maze, trying to get to where she had been in the first place.   
  
Once she reached the spot where she had parted with her dearly beloved crew members, she knew where she was going. She took a left and started running for her life. She heard a shout from behind her as soon as she hit the bright light. Her mouth dropped when she tripped on a root, and the whole landscape changed right before her very eyes.   
  
What was a rainforest but a moment ago, had become a different place.   
  
Hermione knew instantly where she was. She was in the field that was so empty except for a gateway at the end. The one that made her feel crowded. Which she was. The field, wasn’t really a field at all. It was more of a dome with a cloud covered ceiling. Wheat that came up to about her waist grew from the floor. The artificial sun beat down on her face. It seemed as if the room were getting smaller, and there was no way out.   
  
Hermione was claustrophobic.   
  
A loud shout came from behind her. Hermione looked back to see the portal at which through she had come. She had opened the portal, now anyone could go through, and Draco was a mere 100 yards away…   
  
And he was gaining.   
  
Hermione didn’t have any time at all to observe her predicament, she did what she did best when she was 10 years old. She ran, but this time it was different. It wasn’t just a prize; She was competing against Draco Malfoy. The world knew how much both of them wanted to win. And Hermione was never one to lose without a fight.   
  
Hermione sprinted, her feet kicking up wheat that had filled the dome. Her long legs, which moved quite easily in her soft brown breeches, carried her to the end. The feeling was overwhelming. She felt all of her muscles loosen as she kept on running. She laughed out loud as she reached the middle. She grinned and kept on going. After a few more seconds, she heard a yell and looked back, but only for a moment.   
  
Draco was almost halfway across, his arms pumping and his road-long legs soaring.   
Hermione frantically pushed through the wheat as the room kept getting smaller and smaller. so, it wasn’t an illusion. Hermione thought to herself. The room actually did get smaller, threatening to crush them in the next 30 seconds.   
  
Hermione ran up to the door and saw what the lock was made of. It was a small cloud with no real shape as a key hole. Hermione’s mouth opened in shock as a thought struck her.   
  
 _I don’t have a key._  She just stared at the lock…   
  
It morphed into a heart shape. Relief flooded her body. Hermione didn’t have time to take in the beauty of the Door Of Clouds. She grabbed the chain and tore her Locket off of her neck and stuffed it into the lock.   
  
Draco had almost caught up with her.   
  
Hermione’s pulse raced harder as the door opened. She yanked her locket out of the lock and slammed the door shut. She almost took a step forward, but then, was happy that she didn’t.   
  
Extremely happy, that is, for below her feet was a chasm that went so far down that even someone with a high powered telescope wouldn’t be able to see the bottom. The only thing that she could hear was a sound of rushing water. _A really loud sound._  Hermione acknowledged fearfully.   
  
She felt a spray of water that had reached to where she was. A fine mist hung heavily in the air. Hermione looked to her left, and saw the bridge, which seemed to be a still as a statue. Had Hermione not been in the game, and was looking at it from an outsiders point of view, it would have looked like a picture.   
  
The bridge looked like one that people would see in adventure movies, one that seemed to stretch on for eternity, planks missing every there and there, the rope rails fraying and re-knotted in several areas as far as her eyes could see.   
  
A rap on the door behind her made her feet begin to move; and move fast. She scurried, hugging the wall, over to the bridge.   
  
The door that Hermione had just walked through seconds before opened.   
  
Draco Malfoy wasn’t even 10 yards away from her.  "Don't move mudblood, so I can push you over the cliff."  
  
"Do you think I'm that stupid, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, incredulously.  
  
"Well, you  _are_  a mudblood."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Can't you be a little more original---?"  
  
All of the sudden, a wind tore through the landscaping, increasing the rushing noise, and making Hermione’s hair fly into her eyes and mouth. She refused to look at her right, she already saw Draco’s flashing white hair in her peripheral vision. She edged closer to the entrance of the bridge, small rocks tumbling from underneath her feet and into the blackness below. She grabbed onto the frail wooden bridge support, and thanked Merlin that it didn’t break. She righted herself and took a deep breath to calm her speeding nerves.   
  
She spared no seconds and stepped onto the bridge.   
  
That was when she figured out why they called it the bridge of swing and tow.   
  
As soon as her foot had hit the first wooden plank of the bridge that stretched over the deepest chasm that Hermione had ever seen in her entire life, The whole world went upside down, turning around in circles, making Hermione feel as if she were in a whiling tube.   
  
Something in the back of her mind told her that it was just an optical illusion, but her body wanted to believe it was real. The swinging was literally knocking her off of her feet. Hermione yelled at the top of her lungs….   
  
After punching his signet into the lock, Draco slammed through the door that he had just watched Hermione run through. He was just about to pounce forward until heard the rocks crumbling at the edges of his feet. He swung his arms crazily to regain his footage, praying that he wouldn’t topple over.   
  
Once balanced, he looked down, but his eyes barely widened with the terror that Hermione’s had just moments before. He acknowledged the presence of the voice and just added it to his mental list of the situation. He looked around and then saw a picture that he hadn’t expected to see. It was as still as a crisp winter morning, but Hermione was yelling at the top of her lungs… _Why is she screaming, when the bridge isn’t even moving?_  he asked himself, curiously. He edged over to the bridge, and tried to step on it., but them a booming voice filled the air, almost knocking Draco off of his feet.   
  
“Only one shall pass …. at a time!”   
  
Draco’s annoyance at the blasted island was rising at every opportunity.  _Stupid Island_. Draco stepped back and stood, his foot tapping impatiently, as he waited for Hermione to cross. He rested his head against the cold cliff wall, his heart beating with a fierce love for the competition of the game. And Hermione was winning.   
  
Draco wasn’t sure if he liked that very much.   
  
He didn’t like that at all.   
  
Ever since they were small, he wanted to beat her, but mostly her friend Harry Potter, at everything. Quidditch never went too well, because of Harry’s blind luck. Hermione ditched her social life for homework. That was something that Draco promised himself that he would never do.   
  
The result was that most girls at Hogwarts were drooling over him, and all the guys hated him.  _I’m brilliant, I know_. Thought Draco smugly.   
  
He then resumed to watch the shrieking girl in puzzlement. His eyes opened wide as her legs staggered, and she almost fell of off the bridge….   
  
  
Hermione, was suffering a mental crisis. She closed her eyes, and forced herself to concentrate.  _Ok, so what do I know?_  she said to herself. I  _know that there is a chasm beneath me, and I’m walking on a still bridge._  
Her body refused to listen to her. Hermione shut her eyes tighter.  _I can do this!_  She told herself.  _I can! If Malfoy can do it, so can I!_  She thought, determined.   
  
That was when her control freak took over. She tuned everything out. The noise, her fear, the sound of her pumping heart, and focused on her feet.  _One Step….Two step….Three Step…_  
  
She kept counting in her head, and kept walking, holding on the hand rails for life. After all, no one really wants to die, falling into a hole that probably took you all the way to Harry’s personal bedroom. She kept on walking, everything was still. A smile tugged at her lips, but Hermione forced it down. I  _haven’t gotten of off this demented bridge yet!_  she thought.   
  
Finally, her feet hit the end of the bridge. Hermione signed in relief and opened her eyes. She looked all the way across the bridge at at Draco, who was glaring at her.   
  
 _Oh, this can’t be good._  Hermione thought, as she took a step onto the bridge. Hermione didn’t wait to see what happened next. She was just hoping that he took longer than she did with the bridge. But Hermione’s knowledge of Draco and of his family character traits and habits…She knew that he would finis faster, if not in half the time that she crossed the bridge.   
  
  
She didn’t even glance back at him as she ran through the tunnel that was at the end of the bridge. Her footsteps echoes along the circular stone walls, the faint light that allowed her to see where given off by crystals, that were somehow shining from within, that were somehow imbedded into the rock.   
  
It gave the tunnel an archaic forbidden fairytale atmosphere.   
  
Hermione kept running, trying her best to ignore the stitch that was forming in her side. She ran until she reached the opening, where a small, sparkling, sphere-shaped rock sat on an intricately designed column that branched off and almost cocooned it with pointy edges.   
  
Hermione stepped towards it, and with no delay, began singing her favorite song. The verses of the lullaby that her mother used to sing to her wafted through the air, soaring to the crystal ceiling that seemed to reach the sky.   
  
She stayed silent for a moment, waiting for the rock to accept it. The rock flared a bright yellow color, almost as if it were a mini-sun. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. As soon as the flare had come, it had gone. The only think different about the stone was that it had turned into glass with shining sparks of gold glinting inside of it.   
  
Hermione decided that she had passed the test. The sign that the ground hadn’t opened up and swallowed her was a good sign. Unquestionably a good sign. Hermione thought to herself, as she opened her mouth and recited  _The Lady of Shallotte_  without even stumbling once. She took one step forward, and two steps back, then clapped her hands.   
  
Nothing happened. Hermione frowned, and looked at the rock, waiting for a sign…   
  
Suddenly, the ground opened and swallowed her up… Hermione didn’t even have time to scream.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco stepped from the shadows of the doorway and watched as the rock melded together with a squishy sound. His head was still spinning from having to cross the bridge.  _Demented, idiotic bridge!_  he thought.   
  
He had gotten off of the bridge, he had almost thrown up his breakfast that he had eaten on the ship. He had looked down the tunnel that Hermione had just run through and began jogging his way through. He didn’t want to get caught into any booby-traps. That was when the most beautiful raw voice that he had heard in his life wafted into the cave, rebounding off of the cold stone walls. He had reached the doorway when Hermione was reciting a poem. Then she had been sucked into the ground.   
  
His eyes darted to the rock that had turned a brilliant white. He narrowed his eyes and stepped up to the small rock, ready to face the challenge.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Susan dragged Thaddius along, doing her best to ignore the taunts that we catching up with them.   
  
“Hurry up Thadds!” she yelled.   
  
“If you would bloody let go of my hand, maybe I could!” He yelled back.   
  
Susan rolled her eyes and let him go, excepting him to follow. Thaddius did just that. They were running for their lives this time…   
  
They stopped when they reached a dead end. Great. thought Susan. Just what we need.   
  
She turned around, yanking Thaddius and started to run back, but it was already too late. Blaise and Raven had already made it to the entrance of the particular path that they were in. Susan ran back and pulled out her wand, enlarging the dead end into a court-yard like area. If she would have had the time, she would have created a fountain to go in the middle, but this was not the moment to do so.   
  
The pair took up defensive poses, watching, waiting, as their enemies closed in on them.   
  
Thaddius could almost hear the battle music playing in the back ground. He looked over at Susan. “Don’t die.”   
  
“You too. Fight with me?” she said, with half a smile.   
  
Thaddius grinned, thrusting his sword in the air. “’Till the death!”   
  
Susan raised an eyebrow at him. “Shut up.”   
  
The music stopped playing. All that they could hear was the drawing of two swords- and it wasn’t their own. All of the flowers in the courtyard fell off of their stems.   
  
“Oi Trapper!” Thaddius yelled to the approaching girl. “Do you really have to be that ugly? Killing flowers with the mere look of your face…It’s tragic!”   
  
Blaise did his best not to snort in laughter.   
  
Raven sneered. “Oh look who it is, little Thadds…Want to play?” she asked.   
  
Susan looked at Thaddius and whispered. “I want to fight her.”   
  
Thaddius grinned. At the brown haired brown eyed girl beside him. “Sorry darling, but I know her weakness.” he stated, almost mysteriously. He dug his foot into the grassy ground.   
  
Susan gave him a questioning look. “What is it?”   
  
“Me.”   
  
Susan laughed. “Oh, that’s rich,” but Thaddius was already running towards Raven with a roar. “For Hermione!” he yelled, his blade slashing at Raven. Her eyes went wide at his speed, but she recovered quickly, parrying and matching rhythm.   
  
Blaise walked over to Susan, his blade before him. “I really don’t want to fight you.” he said, somberly.   
  
  
“I would think that you wouldn’t.” Susan said, lowering her sword a little bit.   
  
Blaise hit her sword with his. “But we may as well look like we’re fighting, it might offset Raven if we didn’t.”   
  
Susan didn’t even have time to answer, as his sword cut at her. Susan whirled out of the way, slashing her sword at his arm. “What the heck Zabini?” she asked, short on her air supply. He had caught her totally unawares.   
  
“Well, we may as well be fighting. I don’t want it to look phony. Draco has to be sure that my alliance with him is solid. He knows that I liked Hermione.” Blaise said cryptically, as he dodged yet another one of Susan’s attacks, but he wasn’t fast enough. Her cutlass tore into his arm, drawing a long jagged cut down the upper muscles. Blaise’s eyes went big. “I thought we were just pretending!”   
  
“Sorry.” Susan said with an all too innocent face. “Slipped.”   
  
Blaise’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure it did.” he said, parrying another offensive blow.   
  
Susan smiled almost manically. “I won’t let it slip, if you answer my next questions truthfully.” she spun around, her sword clashing with his. “Deal?”   
  
Blaise looked at the girl in front of him, disbelievingly. “Aren’t you in Hufflepuff?”   
  
Susan rolled her eyes. “Yes. But everyone says that I should have been sorted into Ravenclaw.”   
  
Blaise smiled, “I think that you would have made a great Slytherin.”   
  
“Please, I’m not mean enough. Take yourself for example,” she said, but she never got to finish her sentence, for his blade had given her a scratch on her arm to match his. He smirked. Her eyes blazed.   
  
“About those questions…”   
  
“Yes?” Blaise answered, trying to avoid her cutting blade.   
  
“Who are you loyal to?” she asked, fending of another one of his blows. He was pushing her into the defensive, and Susan didn’t like it one bit.   
  
“Why do you want to know?” he asked.   
  
Her sword slashed in again, this time, scraping his stomach. A line blossomed on his white shirt. Blaise gasped in pain. “Hermione.” he said, his hand reaching for his stomach. “Hermione.”   
  
Susan looked at him curiously as he fell to the ground. “Blaise?”   
  
He grimaced at her. “You scraped across the old wound.” he said, pulling up his shirt. Susan gasped as she lent down and pulled out her wand.   
  
“SUSAN!”   
  
The cry of desperation caused Susan to look at Thaddius for a moment, and then for some odd reason, her bodies instincts jerked her forward, on top of Blaise. The air whistled right where her head had been. She looked over to see a dagger lying in the grass…   
  
A very real, a very sharp dagger.   
  
Susan sat up immediately and looked over at the other two people in the courtyard. Thaddius was loosing.   
  
“I knew you were weak Thadds, but to have a girl beat you, that’s just pathetic!” Raven said, a sneer contorting her face. Her sword yanked his out of his hands. She forced him onto his feet. “Any last words?” she asked menacingly. Thaddius grimaced as her sword pricked his neck.   
  
“Yeah.” a voice said from behind her. Raven looked at Thaddius, his mouth hadn’t moved. Raven become disoriented.   
  
“Hasta la Vista _you cow_.” Susan stabbed the dagger that Raven had just thrown at her moments ago into Raven’s back.   
  
Raven yelled in pain, dropping her sword, and trying to take out the dagger from her back, but Susan wouldn’t let her do it. She let Raven fall to her knees, then on her face.   
  
She didn’t move. Susan looked at the girl that she had just killed and stepped away, helping Thaddius get to his feet. They turned away as a blue light flashed behind them.   
  
Susan stepped towards Blaise, who had healed his fresh wound and had stood up. “So,” she said, glancing at Thaddius, signaling to pull out his sword, “Whatcha gonna do now, Zabini?”   
  
He pulled off his white shirt and started to wrap it around his sword. He didn’t realize that someone was staring…   
  
Susan was speechless. It wasn’t like she had seen a man’s chest before… _but man oh man… Fencing sure did Zabini some good._  He was absolutely completely chiseled. Susan found that she had a new appreciation for the weapons, and forced her eyes to look away.   
  
“Stop drooling, Bones.” Thaddius said, grinning cheekily.   
  
“Shut up, Thadds.”   
  
Blaise looked up at them, his hands still busy. “Excuse me, but did I miss something?”   
  
“Yes--”   
  
“NO.” Susan said, interrupting. “You didn’t.” She glared at Thaddius, forcing him into submissive silence.   
  
“Well, then, I guess now is as good a time as any.” Blaise said, thrusting his sword into the air, his white shirt flying in the wind. “ I surrender?”   
  
Susan smiled, and Thaddius grinned. “Well, we had something else in mind…”   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Hermione sat up groggily, feeling the stone protrusions under her back. “Brilliant rhyme.” Hermione murmured sarcastically, opening her eyes. She stood up slowly, making sure nothing was broken. “The stone will crack.  _HAHA._  I bet the writer thought that he was an absolute _genius_.” She grumbled, popping her back.   
  
 _I’m lucky that I didn’t get a concussion._ Her eyes took in the opening to her left, that dropped a sheer half-mile to the ocean. _You can see the whole Island from here!_  Hermione thought, excitedly, but she stepped away from the edge.   
  
 _I don’t have time for this._  She thought, and turned around, surveying the empty cave. All of the sudden, a loud noise filled the air, crashing through the silence on legs made of rocks.   
  
Hermione knelt down to the floor, holding her hands over her ears. Her cheek dug into the rocky ground, as she did her beset to remain limp. Even the ground was shaking.   
  
Then, as soon as it had come, the noise stopped. Hermione kept her eyes closed for a moment, taking a deep breath, and then let them fly open. She moved her hands from her ears and shook her head - little pebbles and fine grainy bits of rock fell out of her hair. She stood up, and her eyes took in a most welcome signet at the back of the cave.   
  
There the treasure chest stood in its full glory. Hermione stepped forward, hesitantly, as if it were all to good to be true. As if it were a dream….   
  
 _It’s not a dream Granger!_  A voice said in her head. _You’ve done it!_    
  
Hermione grinned and ran to the chest, observing its full beauty.   
  
It was a chest which was engraved with silver, gold, and bronze. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and a large assortment of other jewels were set into the precious metals, in an almost fantastical design. The wood on which the designs were set in was almost black, polished so much that it could put the king’s table to shame!   
  
Then there was the lock. Hermione’s brows furrowed.   
  
It was no ordinary lock. Though it was the only hole on the chest, it did not have the customary shape for which a standard key could fit in. Hermione leaned in closer, to see that it wasn’t a hole at all. It was an indent, in which a small circular object had to fit in. The object had wings.   
  
 _A snitch!_    
  
The thought hit Hermione like a comet.  _Someone has a snitch signet! That’s the key that opens the lock!_  Her eyebrows flew into her hairline. “It’s ingenious! Incredible!” she said in awe. Her fingers traced the depressed opening.   
  
She stood up and shook her head to herself. She knew what she had to do. And it wasn’t going to be easy.   
  
She went over and walked to the only opening out of the cave. She needed to get out, but questions swirled in her mind.  _Who could have the snitch signet?_  her brain kept repeating, demanding the answer.   
  
Then it came to her. “Oh no….” Hermione’s eyes went open at the insane proposition her brain was making. The only person that could have a signet with that importance is--   
  
“Well, well. What have we here?”   
  
Hermione whirled around to the voice, the light shining from the opening of the cave behind her making her seem like a silhouette. She gasped. _Merlin! I forgot all about Malfoy!_    
  
  
Hermione drew her cutlass, her empty musket case told her that she had lost it on the way here. His empty one told her the same as well. The sound of a second cutlass being drawn cut the air and sent a shiver down Hermione’s spine.   
  
Draco smirked when he saw her draw her sword. “You actually know how to use that, Granger? Should I be impressed?”   
  
Hermione stepped away from the entrance of the cave and to the wall nearby it, joining his movement in a circle around the center ground of the abode of the treasure.   
  
“Scared, Malfoy? But wow, you can actually form coherent sentences? With you being a ferret. Hmmm. Should I be the one impressed?” she countered easily, one foot stepping over the other. Her heart was about to beat out of her chest, but then she remembered. This is the scum that has treated me like the dirt on his shoes for the past six years!!! Her hatred slowly began working on her pulse, slowing it down, little by little….   
  
Draco sneered. “I got turned into a ferret in 3 years ago! It’s sad that you have to go that far back to find insults to throw at me.”   
  
“But my dear little ferret, you looked so good as one!” Hermione said, over sweetly. “Shall we dance?” she said, bowing.   
  
“The tango, or the salsa?” Draco stated, advancing towards her. “I find the waltz is terribly boring.” he conceded, the left corner of his lips twitching as if it wanted to smile. “Shall we?” he asked, bowing.   
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed at his lighthearted tone. “What do you want?” Her tone changed into a stone cold grey- threatening to freeze the air around her.   
  
Draco looked her dead in the eyes, his lips falling into all seriousness- the twitch had disappeared. His next words, Hermione would remember for the rest of her life.   
  
“I want you.”   
  
Hermione stumbled for a moment, his statement throwing her completely off guard.   
  
Suddenly, Draco chose his moment to lunge at her, his cutlass cutting through the air. Hermione dodged it at the last second, but not before the blade cut through her shirt. She gasped, trying to retain her footage. She got into a defensive position, and blocked his second attack, her arm instantly screaming in protest.   
  
“Ah! So you do know how to tango! Lets just see how well, shall we?” Draco said, flicking his sword at her again. Hermione fended him off, trying to get off of the defensive. Instantly, she measured his strengths and his weaknesses.   
  
 _He’s tall, so defending his legs could be a problem. He’s arrogant as Merlin’s unibrow, which makes him think that he’s better than me, and he doesn’t think I’m any good._  Her face went grim, as she fenced off another blow, this time to her stomach.   
  
“I’m well off enough Malfoy.” she said, gritting the words out of her mouth, doing her best to focus on their dancing swords.   
  
His style was unlike any that she had ever fought. It was as if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if her were one with his sword. Hermione narrowed her eyes.   
  
“Sure you are.” he conceded, taking a step forward, and one step back, parrying with her. She didn’t comment, sensing that he had more to say.   
  
“ You have 2 friends who see you as a boy,” he said casually, cross-stepping and causing Hermione to twirl around with him, their blades sparked with the force “*Your hair looks like a pygmy puff when it’s humid,” he paused as Hermione’s sword moved in and cut a hole into his shirt, causing him to leap back, yet he still continued “You’re an insufferable know it all, but the real cherry on top of the ice cream is,” he said, his sword capturing hers and forcing her sword to meet hilt to hilt with his, their faces only 2 blades’ width apart, “You’re nothing but a poor, pathetic  _Mudblood.”_  he whispered.   
  
Time stopped. The world quit moving. All you could hear was their labored breathing. Hermione’s eyes narrowed, but she wouldn’t let herself be the first to blink.   
  
Draco looked into her fierce honey brown eyes. He could see the golden flakes that were scattered in her irises, he was that close. He felt her knuckles brush against his as she held her sword to match his force. He smirked. “What, no smart retort Granger? What’s the world coming too?”   
  
“An end for you and a victory for me.” she whispered fiercely into the air.   
  
 _My, my but she’s a feisty kitten today_. His smirk grew wider. “How brave….How….. _Gryffindor_  of you to say that.” He stated with sarcasm, his minty breath mingling with hers, “But today, Mudblood, is the day I get the glory, and the day you learn your place in life.” He said.  
  
Just as Hermione was about to say something, she realized that she was breaking one of her rules of warfare. She gazed into his cruel grey eyes, watching triumph flare in them, as the thought played in her mind.  _Never get so close to them, so close that they could kiss you._ Her breath stopped, and her gaze fell to his lips. Her mouth parted when she saw that all that was keeping them apart were their cutlasses.. Their very sharp cutlasses.   
  
They were pink and soft, a contradiction to his cruel, angled, yet beautiful face. They radiated passion, and a kindness that Hermione had never seen before. She leaned in, mesmerized by their beauty…   
  
Draco was waiting for her to say something…anything. After several moments of silence, he made a conclusion.   
  
 _Ha! Seems like she can’t come up with a comeback after all!_  He thought triumphantly. But he saw something in her eyes, as if, realization was just dawning on her. His eyes widened in shock when her eyes dropped from his..  _But Granger never looks away first._  was the first thought that hit his brain. The second was that she wasn’t looking away.   
  
A wave of heat rippled through his body when he realized just where she was looking.   
  
 _Granger is looking at my lips._  He thought, his perfect eyebrow flew up in amazement. He took a moment to survey her.   
  
Her curly hair was in a mess, it was still damp from the rain, and was doing its best to escape the confines of her pony tail. Her complexion was flawless, her cheeks were flushed from their sword-fighting. She was a good 6 inches sorter than he was, but her stamina made her as tall as he was. At the moment, she was on the rise floor of the cave, which made her almost 3 inches taller. He looked down, and marveled when he saw a very familiar chain on her neck. He followed the chain, and raised his eyebrows.   
  
 _My, my. Looks like the little Mudblood has grown up after all_. He thought. Then, he realized, what he was thinking. A deep anger coursed through his veins at his rebellious thoughts. It’s just hormones. he said, but that thought was brushed away when she leaned slightly forward, her eyes dazed.   
  
A snake of prejudice reared in his body. He sneered, and with a movement that was so fast that no one could have seen it with their naked eye, he pushed his sword into hers with such force that it made her fly into the wall, pieces of rocks fell down from their perches and landed around her. Hermione bit back a groan, but Draco could see the pain in her eyes. He smirked at her, feeling joyous that the Mudblood was being put back into her place. But for some reason, he felt a tiny bit of remorse. It’s only because she’s a girl. Draco said to himself, but then he pushed the thought away. _I’m going to win this game, and she’s in the way!_  
  
Draco lunged at her again. Hermione stood up, but not quickly enough. His sword flew close to her face, but her sword arm was stuck in a rock, she couldn’t defend herself. The point of his cutlass cut a small ‘X’ on her cheekbone. Hermione gasped in pain, all the while struggling to get her arm out from the rock.   
  
Draco grinned, His blonde hair damp from perspiration, as he closed in on her. He titled her face up with the tip of his sword, forcing her to meet his gaze.   
  
“Any last words?” he asked, almost patronizing.   
  
“Damn you Draco Malfoy.” she gritted through her teeth, and with a yell, she wrenched her hand from the rock, and pushed him away. She grasped her sword from the ground and stood to face him. Her cutlass wavered in her hands.   
  
Her shove was so hard, that Draco had fallen to the floor; his sword was teetering on the edge of the hole in the cave. He quickly got up, and went to reach for it.   
  
Hermione was not about to let him just get his sword back. She lunged at him, but missed the center of his back…. She pierced his side- his foot knocked his sword down into oblivion.   
  
Draco roared as he felt the cutlass sink into his side, right near the edge of his skin. He took another step forward so that the cutlass would slide out of his side, without tearing anything else. Draco felt the blood seeping out from his side. Fierce fury ripped through his body. For a moment, he stared out at the view below and saw how strategically Hermione had parked her ship.   
  
And what a magnificent ship it was. He resisted to allow his thoughts to compliment her cleverness.  _The wench just stabbed me!_  Draco thought, as he whirled around, the opening of the cave to his back. The light shone around his white-blonde hair, making an illusion that he was god-like. He was beautiful, but his face was contorted with pain.   
  
Hermione just stood there, in mid-lunge. She was frozen, and couldn’t believe what she had almost done. _I almost killed someone._    
  
The thought made her go slack jawed. I _promised myself that I wouldn’t do this!_  Her thoughts rebelled against her actions, tearing her from within. Her heart throbbed painfully, in remorse. She simply stared at the red rose of blood that was blossoming from her enemy’s side. He took a step towards her and knocked her sword out of her hand. With a growl, he grabbed the neck of Hermione’s shirt and shoved her against the unforgiving stone wall.   
  
“Think you’re funny, do you Granger? Going around, and  _stabbing_  people?”   
  
His question was met with silence. He surveyed her face. Lines of blood were slowly cascading from the ‘X’ which he had carved on her cheek. Her complexion had gone completely pale, the pink on her cheeks looked alien like, as if they were drawn by a terrible artist. Her mouth was open in shock. Her eyes were still glazed with some unknown emotion. Draco searched the chocolate pools further and found… disappointment? In what? His confused thoughts were broken when she spoke.   
  
“Malfoy, I’m sorry--”   
  
“No you’re not.” Draco cut in, slicing her sentence, his cool eyes assessed her honey- golden speckled ones. He proceeded to lean forward so that his lips were hovering over her ear, and whispered hotly “Neither am I.”   
  
He smirked as he felt her hormones meddle with her brain and send a shiver down her spine.   
  
Upon feeling this, he pulled back, his lips a mere second away from hers. Hermione looked him in the eyes, confusion slipping away from them. “I don’t understaAAAAHHHH--”   
  
A piercing pain filled her stomach. Hermione arched back in pain. She looked into Draco’s eyes with hate and loathing, gasps coming from her mouth.   
  
He grinned at her dying face. “You should never trust another Pirate not to kill you when the treasure is merely two feet away.” Draco said, as he wrenched his dagger that he had hidden under his shirt earlier out of her stomach. Her scream tore at something inside of him, but Draco pushed it away.   
  
Anger bubbled through Hermione’s veins, her voice felt hoarse, but even as the anger rushed through her body, she could feel the blackness coming over her. She looked Draco in the eye, and with her last breath, she pulled her wand out from a strap that was secured around her waist beneath her shirt and aimed it at the treasure chest. Her eyes darted from his, Draco lunged at her, trying to stop her..   
  
And just before his body slammed into hers, she cast a non-verbal spell.   
  
The energy from the spell rippled through the room, upsetting rocks, tearing through weeds that had grown up through the cracks, and finally hit the chest.   
  
Draco turned his head in mid air, and almost in slow-motion- watched the spell land smack-dab on the keyhole. It burned a white-hot color, transforming the lock from its original design.   
  
The pair of enemies landed on the rock floor. Draco kneeled over Hermione. “What spell did you use?” he asked, his voice demanding an answer. He knew exactly what she had done. Draco cursed himself for being too slow to realize it, and the fact that he didn’t stop her soon enough ruined everything.   
  
 _The little Mudblood was here earlier, which means she knows what the lock looks like!_  He cursed again. In order to know how to reverse what Hermione had done, he had to know the exact spell that she had used, or else he was doomed.  _She was dying…._  
Hermione just smiled, and shook her head. She coughed, causing some blood to drip out of her mouth. She grimaced at the taste of iron, but continued smiling none the less. Draco took her by the shoulders and shook her. “WHAT SPELL DID YOU USE?” he roared.   
  
“Oh, the cleverness of you.” she said, laughing.   
  
Draco shook her again. “TELL ME!”   
  
“You lose, Malfoy. I win.“   
  
All he could do watch the life fade away from her beautiful eyes.   
  
A blue flash lit up brilliantly in the air.   
  
Hermione Granger died laughing. 


	10. The Hanging

The room seemed as if it were ancient, the walls were covered in maps. Wherever there wasn’t a map, there was a bookshelf, or a floor to ceiling window. It was called the Sequence Room, where the King and his advisors planned out how they would capture the pirates. They had one map on which the ships moved, courtesy of the King’s charm work.   
  
A knock sounded on the mahogany door. “Come in.”   
  
A red haired fellow walked into the room, almost as if he owned the place. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail. He had decided not to cut it and take after the style that was fashionable in that era. His clothes were in good taste, but almost on the tacky side.. He dressed fancy enough that he would be told apart from the crowds, but lowly enough to fit in. The King’s symbol that hung as a medal around his neck told people who he was. He was loved in all of the villages, all of the towns. “Your Highness.” His voice rumbled through the room, as only his voice could. He bowed.   
  
Harry looked at the charts that lay at his hands. “How many time do I have to tell you to stop calling me ‘highness’ Ron?”   
  
Ok, so maybe his voice didn’t rumble _. But it was nice to think about it that way for a moment._ Thought Ron.   
  
“At least once more, your Highness.” He replied cheekily.   
  
Harry gave him an exasperated look.   
  
“Can I at least call you “Your Grace?”   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “Cut it out Ron!” he said, trying to turn his attention back to the maps that lay out on the table before him.   
  
“What about, ‘your Lordship‘?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Come on, Harry!”   
  
“Ah. Finally! You called me by my name! There is a god!” Harry said in relief.   
  
Ron crossed his arms, knowing that he had just been verbally defeated. “You called me, your Most Exaltedness?.”   
  
Just because he was defeated, didn’t mean he had to be submissive.   
  
Harry emitted a sound that sounded quite like a growl, but remained silent. “How have we been doing, your Generalness?”   
  
Ron raised a red brow. “Oh, come on! When I say it, it sounds cool! But when you say it, it’s….ridiculous!”   
  
“Wow, a four syllable word! How impressive.”   
  
“Umm.. Harry? Last time I checked, Exaltedness had four syllables.”   
  
Harry whimpered. “Ok, you win!”   
  
“Ha!” Ron exclaimed, pumping a fist into the air, then he leaned closer to Harry, in what seemed like an almost suggestive manner. Harry backed away, slightly freaked out.   
  
“Now we have,” Ron looked around, making sure that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, “nicknames for each other.” He whispered, raising his eyebrows suggestively.   
  
They remained so, for a moment. Harry burst out laughing, and after a moment, Ron followed suit. “You are an idiot, Ron.”   
  
Ron grinned. “Guilty as charged!” he admitted.   
  
“So, back to the original question,” Harry began. Having Ron around really took away a lot of stress. Harry’s brows furrowed slightly.  _That thought didn’t sound right at all!_    
  
Anyways… “How have we been doing?”   
  
“Harry, honestly, why do you have to ask me this question?” Ron stated, the left corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He leaned against the table that Harry was studying, and looked at his nails “You know how we’ve been doing. You’re with me every night! What, you still need reassurance?” Ron asked, trying to retain a chuckle.   
  
Harry grimaced. “You and your little sexual innuendos. Tell me, Ronald, do they ever stop?”   
  
“Oooo. You called me ‘Ronald.’ I  _like_  it!” Ron said, his face turning slightly pink from trying to contain his laughter.   
  
“If you could be like this around girls, maybe they would actually like you.” Harry said, trying to change the subject, but Ronald Weasley wasn’t fooled.   
  
“Ah, but maybe they aren’t the one’s that are worth my innuendoes.” He said, looking pointedly at Harry.   
  
“You know what?” Harry asked, reaching the end of his rope. He looked Ron in the eyes, “You’re going to come joking one day, and tell me that you’re a homosexual, and do you know what’s going to happen?”   
  
Ron looked at him, perplexed. “What does homosexual mean?”   
  
“Gay.”   
  
“Oh. Yeah. What?”   
  
  
“I’m actually going to believe you.”   
  
Ron laughed. When Harry didn’t laugh with him, he looked at his friend. Harry’s face was somber. “I was being serious Ron.”   
  
After Ron gave Harry a worried look, Harry cracked a smile. “Relax, I knew you were just kidding.”   
  
Relief flooded Ron’s face, as Harry asked again. “So, for the third time today, how have we been doing?   
  
  
“It’s been going splendid actually.” Ron said, picking up a looian from one of the displays in the room. He blew into it, and laughed at the trill whistle that come from an opening at the bottom.   
  
“Put that away, will you?” Harry asked, putting a hand to his head. “I noticed you overtook a pirate ship this morning.” he stated, offhandedly.   
  
“Yeah, we did.” Ron said proudly. “It was pug-faced Parkinson’s. Well, she really isn’t pug-faced anymore..”   
  
“And right now, I’ll just pretend that your hormone level is sky-high right now, because if the next words that were going to come out of your mouth had the words, Pansy, and sexy, I might be worried.”   
  
Ron grunted.   
  
It had been like this for a while. Ever since Ron had captured Grant Grey’s ship, he had gotten slightly moody, and yet, he was walking entertainment. Catching pirates was no easy task. One would have tot think like them, act like them., talk like them,  _understand_  what being a Pirate really was. Ron was generally good at it. “Actually, I was going to say that she was pretty, but I really do like the way that you said ‘sexy’ though.   
  
Harry bashed his head against a wall. “Ron, could you please be serious? Have you hung her yet?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“And why in blazes not?” Harry asked, incredulously. “Every minute counts! Who knows how close the pirates are to winning?”   
  
Ron sighed. “She said she’d give us information.”   
  
Harry shot a glance at Ron. “No, absolutely not. She’s bewitched you into not getting hanged immediately, who knows what she would do to me?”   
  
Ron nodded, “Of course, you’re right. I’ll go and get to that then. There’ll be fireworks tonight!: He exclaimed before walking out of the door.   
  
Harry grimaced as the door slammed on Ron’s way out. He rubbed his temples tiredly as he surveyed the maps again. Something was going to happen soon, he could just feel it. There was no rhyme or reason to it.   
  
Harry glanced outside, and watched the wind pick up. There was a storm coming, and he didn’t know what he was going to do about it.   
  
Harry pulled out a pen and began to write out his plans.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Ron walked out the door, not caring if it slammed shut. _I HATE hanging people!_  He thought to himself, his footsteps echoing in the hall.   
  
He had already gotten Grant Grey’s ship, and they had some really sad little 5th years. First, he had taken away all of their signets, and then he had hung them. He didn’t know why he had taken the signets, he just thought that it might be a good idea.   
  
He walked down various corridors, no longer marveling at the beauty of the castle. Ornate rugs hung to cover the once bare walls, windows were paned with criss-cross panels; even the floor had been swept clean. Ron walked over a group of lads that were, in this world, his friends.   
  
“Hey Neville!” he said acknowledging his house mate. “Seamus.” He said, giving a curt nod and a grin. “What have you all been up to?”   
  
Neville grimaced. “Parkinson has officially gone physco.” He said in his slighted English accent.   
  
Seamus nodded. “It’s right horrible it is! She’s been rattling the prison bars all morning long, shrieking her bloody lungs off! It’s a nightmare!”   
  
Ron’s face twisted in sympathy for his friends. “Well, it wont be so bad. She’s getting hung tonight.“   
  
“Really?” Seamus said, his attitude perking up a little. “Well, that’s brilliant!”   
  
He and Neville high-fived. Ron grinned. “Well, I’m off to make preparations. Who’s with me?”   
  
The two guys instantly offered up their services. “Well, shall we go?”   
  
The trio headed off to the docks and the prison.   
  
Harry looked out the window as he watched the joking friends walk, carefree, down the town road. He sighed.  _Being a King is harder than I thought._    
  
  
He closed the shutters and went back to his table to review that maps at least one more time.   
  


* * *

  
  
Pansy moped in her cell. She was all alone, and had been separated from her crew. Even worse, they wouldn’t even give her, her precious nail file!  _The bloody bastards_. she thought, grimacing as her hands touched the moldy cot beneath her. They were rubbed raw from her rattling on the bars all night. She knew that she was alone. Her signet cut her away from Malfoy, her one and only love. She could never understand why he didn’t like her.   
  
There was a single window, but it was at ground level, so all that she could see out of it were people’s feet. She sighed and lay down on the cot. I _was the best! I don’t understand!_  She thought,  _what went wrong?_  
It was so sudden, as if out of nowhere, the king’s royal navy had appeared beside their ship. It was in the dead of the night, they had all been asleep. The naval soldiers had crept onto the boat with out a sound, and had woken everyone up at the same time, with sword points at their necks, or musket nozzles pushing at their temples with cold steel.   
  
It wasn’t really fair. Ron had given his terms to Pansy, and wouldn’t repeat himself. She said yes, and that’s all that there was too it. He had immobilized her with some sort of perfume, and had taken her and her whole crew into captivity, and tugged her ship to port.   
  
 _I’m going to be hanged._  She thought, in fear.  _This was supposed to be a fun game!_  She thought desperately. Suddenly, the door opened, blinding her.   
  
“Get your lazy butt up, Parkinson. It’s time to go.”   
  
 _It 's him_ , she acknowledged. She could tell just by his voice. “You know you aren’t going to do it Weasley.” She said, one leg bent up, the other straight. Her spine rested against the stone cold prison walls. She looked over at him, with one brow raised.   
  
He had to admire her for her guts. Anyone else would be begging at his knees for their life.   
  
“You know, they say getting hung here, feels like the real thing.”   
  
Pansy laughed harshly. “Right. No one who’s been hung has been re-initiated into the game.”   
  
Ron nodded. “ Touché, but it’s going to happen to you and there’s simply nothing that you can do. We played our game of chess,” he said, leaning against the open door, “ and you just got check-mated.”   
  
He took a moment to survey her. She really wasn’t pug faced. Harry hadn’t seen her. Pansy’s face had lines of dirt on it, her hair greasily hung into her haunting green eyes. Her cheekbones were carved out from not eating enough. Her skin was tanned from the many days in the sun. Ron shook his head. “It’s time to pay up.”   
  
“When I come back, Weasley, I’m going to kill you.” she said, standing up. She watched in silence as he shackled her hands.   
  
“I’ll make sure that I watch my back then.” He said, then added with a second thought, “But maybe I should be watching my feet. You’re bound to ooze Slytherin from 20 feet away. And Merlin, you all are supposed to be  _cunning_ and  _sly.”_  He rolled his eyes and opened the door with his signet which was a small Chudley Cannon solid gold key chain that Harry had given him the past Christmas.   
  
Pansy snorted.   
  
“What, got a problem with the Cannons, Parkinson?”   
  
She remained stubbornly silent.   
  
 _How like a Slytherin._  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He said as he jerked the door open, and grabbed her by the shackles. “Looks like it’s time for you to go!” He said, cheerfully.   
  
Pansy rolled her eyes as she stepped out of the prison. An uproar began, shouts were surrounding her from all sides. She looked around at the mad faces of the people. Their accusing eyes were all on her. She refused to let her Slytherin smirk fade from her face. She wouldn’t let the people see that they were getting to her. Pansy Parkinson was too proud.   
  
She walked proudly, her white blouse billowing in the wind. Her hair freed itself from her head, she shook her black main out, encouraging the crowds to yell louder. She sneered at them. And that’s when she saw him looking out of his balcony.   
  
 _Well, lookie who it is!_  She thought sarcastically.  _Potter. Scarhead. How brilliant that he see me die._  She rolled her eyes and forced herself not to submit to the tidal wave of humiliation. She walked past the lady’s stands, were Cho Chang stood, with The Patil Twins, and Luna, who turned away and walked from the crowd.   
  
“Can’t take the heat, Loony?” Pansy shouted. Luna looked over her shoulder and gave a small smile, as if a Slytherin trying to insult her every day was something that she was used too.   
  
Which she was. Cho stood there, her face expressionless. She was dressed in the garb of a woman of that century, and she had sewn it herself. The navy blue silk gown fit her body like a glove. The corset that she wore underneath emphasized her slender waist. Her eyes flared with hatred, but she stood still. The Patil twins stood, whispering to each other. Each wearing matching dresses. Pansy smirked at them, knowing how impossible hot it must be wearing them.   
  
She was wrenched away from her observations when her feet hit the stand of the gallows. Ron pushed her up onto the stands. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw that the 5 nooses were already around 5 necks. Those of her crew.   
  
They looked at her, all accusingly. She refused to show any emotion. As the charges were being read out, Pansy just drowned out the sounds, and relaxed for a moment in a peaceful state of mind. Which was something of an asylum for a Slytherin. Her eyes winced as the shot of blinding blue light flashed in the darkening sky. A loud cheer went up from the crowd. She staggered as she was pushed up to the gallows. She gulped slightly when she saw the noose before her.   
  
Her feet wanted to run, her brain screamed at them to do so, but they were rooted to the spot. Everything blended in together.   
  
“Pansy Parkinson, is today, on the 14th day of June…”   
  
It all faded. Pansy Parkinson instantly knew what this feeling was. It was fear. She kept trying to tell herself that this was just a game, that it wasn’t real, but the simulation was incredible. She couldn’t convince herself that she was not about to die, that the rope wasn’t about to be hugging her neck in an eternal caress.   
  
“For treason against the crown, and for acts of piracy…”   
  
 _Piracy._  The thought brought a smirk back to her lips. She watched the memories of being a pirate flash before her eyes.   
  
“She is to be hung till death.”   
  
The memories stopped, time stood still. She felt the rope being brought around her neck. She looked him in the eyes.  _Ronald Weasley_. She sneered at him, and all the sudden, the rope tightened around her neck.   
  
With a flash of blue light, she was gone.   
  
The crowd cheered. Ronald Weasley looked away. He walked from the post and didn’t look back. It was like that every time.   
  
Harry watched the proceedings with half of a care. He pulled out the chain that hung around his neck and detached the object that hung from it.   
  
The snitch unfurled it’s wings in his palm, and flew up for a moment.   
  
Harry caught it with the flick of his wrist.  
  
The snitch was the King’s signet.   
  
It was Harry Potter’s. 


	11. White Wigs

If one would walk by the library, and by the Hall of Feasts, they would find themselves in the Judicial Room. In this room, any things and all things judiciary were solved and presented here. The room was a large space, possibly almost as big as the ballroom, which was being prepared for a ball later that week. It had no windows, for fear of spies. It was, however, lit by many chandeliers that were kept lit by several extras whose jobs were to keep them lit whenever an even was taking place.   
  
Seats lined the walls, in several levels. One end of the room possessed a pair of large double doors, and the other held a stand at which the King, or whoever was presenting the event taking place, would present their stand.   
  
Today, however, one would back away from the doors or the Judicial Room for fear of the racket that was slithering it’s way under the door with the monstrosity of a basilisk. It was one of those days in which many extras that ruled the parliament wore their best wigs. If one were to open the door, they would have fainted from dizziness provided by the hundreds of wigs swirling around the area.   
  
The room was crackling with unbroken energy. Men in wigs ran around the room, waving papers around, scampering her and there. Tables were filled with legal documents, and a flurry of papers filled the air when a stack of papers was fisted by none other than King Harry Potter who was having a massive temper tantrum at that very moment.   
  
He stood behind the stand, trying to think of anything than the topic that was at hand. His green eyes, rimmed by his glasses, were tired, and burdened filled. He sought out companion-ships at night, because, ladies and gentlemen, Harry Potter felt alone. The only thing that kept him going were Hermione’s letters.   
  
 _Hermione!_  Harry thought.  _Great topic!_  he smiled at his brain, and thought about the girl that had been keeping him sane. As they say, behind every man in a position of power, was an extraordinary woman rolling her eyes. Hermione had basically helped him with everything that was going on in Fliadopia. He knew that he could have been ‘beheaded’ for keeping in touch with a pirate, but come on. There had to be some benefits to being the king of a nation, surely.   
  
Thoughts of her kept him awake, living, breathing. Partly, Harry blamed Ron for this. It was he that began talking about Hermione in the first place.  _Well, looks like his alliances have changed._  
Harry shot a glare at Ron who was doing his best to be a rogue in the back of the room, seemingly chatting up the blonde extra in the back. Harry kept telling him that he would get attracted, but Ron’s philosophy was that, even though they were extras… He could still get some pleasure out of it.   
  
The only thing that gave Harry some slight satisfaction was that Ron’s trousers were embarrassing the red-head at the moment, and that his ears had turned the same color as his beautiful poppy-colored hair. But, fortunately, and unfortunately, a bitter sweetness of the word ‘fortunate’, Harry had bigger things to attend to.   
  
Like the insane wigged men in the room.   
  
Who were telling him this utter and ludicrous thing that he knew McGonagall was probably enjoying.   
  
Harry shut his eyes and tried to shut all of the voices shouting at him out, but to no avail. Harry was never good at Occumelency, so therefore, the voices once again swarmed around him, with the mercy of a million rabid bees. Harry winced.   
  
“You  _must_  do this, if you do not--”   
  
“It is your DUTY as King of Fliadio-”   
  
“I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want to do-”   
  
“Irresponsible-”   
  
“It has been a tradition for thousands of years, an-”   
  
Harry Potter had had enough.   
  
“I AM TOO YOUNG TO GET  _MARRIED_!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. All of the papers flew out of the men’s hands and hit the walls. The faces of the men would have almost been comical if it hadn’t come to this one subject.   
  
Marriage.   
  
 _If only Hermione were here to help me get out of this! She would know how to get out of this, for sure!_    
  
Harry fought the headache that was teeming into his brain. The silence was deafening for all but a moment. Then it all started up again with the passion of a very hungry platypus.   
  
McGonagall was probably laughing at him right now as all of her extras were torturing him to death.   
  
“I don’t understand the need to be married at this point in time.” Harry said, with the authority of a king. Well..   
  
That’s because he  _was_ a king. But that was beside the point.   
  
“So what if it’s tradition?” He asked, quietly, his headache abating slightly when he realized that he had captured most of the crazy wig bearing men. “We can make new traditions.”   
  
Apparently those were the wrong words to say.   
  
Fury boiled up into the psychotic wig wearers and they began their ranting once again. Their voices filled the ruling room, and they echoed through the hall, which did nothing to quiet the sound waves. Ron shrugged indifferently. Harry shot him another glare. He then held up his hands in air in a form of mock surrender.   
  
There is no way that I can beat these things! He thought, looking at all the white wigs that filled the room. “OK!” He shouted above all of the voices, trying to amplify his own. “OK!”   
  
Semi-silence fell over the room. Really. Harry thought. _What is the point of being a King if you don’t even have say in what kind of toilet paper you use?_  But then he realized.  _Oh._  He conceded. _I’m dealing with psychotic, crazy, unyielding things that wear wigs. …_  
 _That explains everything! How brilliant._  
  
Now that he had part of their attention, he knew that he had to grasp it with both hands. “What if I  _were_  to agree to get married?” Harry asked. “What would the terms be then?”   
  
One of the things stepped forward. Harry fought back a shudder. “You have to chose a respectable worthy bride.” He paused for a moment. After looking at his fellow things, he looked back to the King, and bowed. “And in my humble service, we would recommend Lady Chang.”   
  
Harry’s eyes went wide. “No way in  _hell.”_    
  
That word, apparently, was another one of those that one wasn’t supposed to use.   
  
“You  _must!”_  Thing Leader said to the king, silencing any cries that might have risen from the crowd. “It is strictly  _commanded_  by our religion.”   
  
Harry raised a brow, crossing his arms. “And what religion are we, exactly?”   
  
The silence almost made him want to smirk.   
  
 _Who am I kidding?_  
He let his lips curl into a smirk.   
  
The size of China.   
  


* * *

  
  
Ron paid no mind to anything that was going on. Frankly, it was quite easy to say that without Hermione, their friendship had almost no life. They had their good moments, but most of these days, they were rotten ones that smelt like bad eggs.   
  
So, he just sat in the back and made it his goal to make the blonde beside him smile. It was all he could do. With Harry as king, and with him being the sidekick…   
  
 _Again…_  
Well, one just got tired of those kinds of things. So, Ron decided that he would live the life. He was quite aware that his ears were red, and that his coat didn’t quite cover his pants the way that he sincerely wished they would have…But there was no way in Merlin’s happy place that he wasn’t aware that Harry was glowering at him for not doing his duty of being a side-kick.   
  
So one could guess and say that Ronald Weasley had a resentment against Harry Potter, for being the one who got all the attention. It was nice to see the “Boy-who-lived’ throw a lightning bolt of temper at the extras, trying to be Zeus. With a bad hair day at that.   
  
The matter of the fact was, was that Harry had luck thrust upon him since the day he was born. He managed to defeat a serial killer when he was still suckling his thumb, brilliant Quidditch moves were in his blood, he had a piece of the darkest wizard in history stuck to his soul (which sounded quite scary, but really, was impressive), which allowed him to speak to snakes and open the chamber of secrets, a brainless goblet had thrown his name out on a whim, and gave him eternal glory……..   
  
 _Bloody Luck. Think it could have spared me at least half a pence!_  Ron sighed as the blonde left to go attend one of the other extras.  _It’s not fair._  
Ron kept wallowing in his self pity, until he noticed that a silence had swept over the room. He looked up from his hands and raised his eyes to the other side of the courtroom.  _Why in Merlin’s face is Harry smirking like a dolt who just stole some first-year’s ice cream?_    
  
He didn’t have much time to contemplate his question, because the great hall doors, which were never opened during a judicial meeting, flew open, the gust of wind from the opening doors sent papers flying once again, merrily into the air.   
  
One of the soldier’s galloped in on horse back, through screaming wig-heads, crashed through tables, until he reached the side of the King.   
  
The soldier looked as if he had ridden through a storm, his grey horse was about to pass out. The soldier fell from the saddle and onto the floor. With a snap of Harry’s fingers, water was brought in immediately. Harry pulled out his wand and began healing several cuts and bruises that had covered his face. When he realized that the young man wasn’t going to come to, he touched the tip of his wand to the man’s forehead and whispered, “ _Inneverate._ ’ The young man coughed and spluttered, a new energy filling his body. Harry stood up and gave the lad a hand.   
  
The young strappling stood up by himself, and frantically grabbed at a water-proof satchel attached to his cutlass belt. Without a word, he handed it to Harry. Then he found the courage to say what he didn’t have courage to say in the first place. “Pirates. On the other shore. They upended me, and made me swear that I would deliver this note to you.” With those words, the man collapsed, and a bright blue light filled the air.  
  
They poisoned him. Harry thought in disgust. He could only imagine who the note was from.  _Probably Malfoy._  
  
He instructed for the horse to be led out of the room. Only when the noise died considerably he looked at the note. His eyes widened when he saw who it was really from. In plain, curled handwriting was ‘Captain Bones.’   
  
He shook his head once. When the words didn’t go away, he rubbed his eyes twice.  _Nope, definitely still there_. He knew immediately who this was from. Susan Bones, from Hermione’s ship. She had told him all about what was going on in their letters, all the escapades that they went on, and even the battle that she had with Pansy. She confided everything. That’s what he liked about her. He could trust her, and she trusted him fully.   
  
The only question that he had, was: Why is it Captain  _Bones_  and not Captain  _Hermione_?   
  
There was only one single solitary way to find out. He looked up from the letter and at the gentlemen in the room. “I’m adjourning this legal session and postponing it for seven days time. Please do not bother me,” He added, when the voices arose, pounding the air around his ears, “until the next meeting. Now, if you will excuse me.” He said, not really asking permission. He was king. Why not use his authority now?   
  
He walked briskly to the brown doors, and snatched Ron, who seemed to be chatting up another brunette, along the way. Ron protested, but Harry gave him a glare that would have knocked his boots off.   
  
Once they reached a tapestry of the country side, Harry looked around, to make sure that one was watching them. He pulled back the tapestry and pushed Ron inside a tiny corridor that lay there. He pushed by Ron, after making sure that the tapestry was still, and walked to the end of the corridor, pulling out his wand for light. He pushed back the door, and they entered a quaint sitting room. Harry lit the fire and sat down on one of the padded chairs. He gestured for Ron to do the same.   
  
Ron, however, would have none of it. He was tired of being pushed and pulled and bullied around. He knew that all that he would ever be was ‘Harry Potter’s friend’, the eternal side-kick of the savior of the world. That was brilliant, truly it was, and Ron couldn’t be more happy.   
  
The only problem was, was that side-kicks didn’t often get remembered. And when he was being treated like this, he sure bloody well knew that he probably wasn’t one of the fortunate ones that made the history books.   
  
“What the bloody hell is this all about?” Ron asked Harry, indignantly,   
  
Harry turned his worried green eyes to Ron. After a moment, they dropped to the note in his hands. “I think Hermione’s in trouble.”   
  
Ron’s eyes narrowed as he took the seat in front of Harry. “If it has  _anything_  to do with Malfoy, I  _swear_ … I will  _kill_ him!”   
  
Harry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s the case.”   
  
When Ron said nothing, waiting for Harry to continue, Harry showed him the note. “This is the note that the rider gave me right before he died. I too, thought it was some trick from Malfoy, but when I looked at the note, I had a worse feeling. I didn’t want to open it without you, nor did I want to open it in front of all those wigged freaks!”   
  
Ron snorted. “Well, at least you got to postpone your wedding date.”   
  
“True.” Harry mused. “But, anyways, back to the point. The note is addressed to me from Captain Bones, an--”   
  
“Captain Bones?” his friend interrupted him. “As in Hufflepuff, brunette, insane, Susan Bones?”   
  
Harry took a deep breath. “Yeah. That would be her.”   
  
A silence ensued. A thought struck Ron on the head like an apple falling from a tree. “Wait.. She wasn’t scoped as a captain. She was on Hermione’s cre-”   
  
“ _Precisely_.” Harry announced. “That means something happened to Hermione.”   
  
Ron’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets…Well, more like, popped out. “Well, why don’t you bloody open the note already?” he said in a rage, trying to get the note from Harry’s hands.   
  
“I wanted to wait so that I could open it with you, Ronald, so would you please calm down.” Harry stressed.   
  
Ron rolled his eyes, and made a mock bow. “As you wish, your majesty.   
  
Harry resisted letting out a frustrated groan. He settled for the thought that Ron had to have mad-cow or something like that to be acting like a bloody girl. But enough of that. Harry’s hands trembled as he broke the wax seal that was keeping the letter together. He opened the paper, his eyes reading the first few words.   
  
Then the rage settled in. “I am going to  _kill_ Malfoy.”   
  
Ron raised his eyebrows. “AHA! So is does have something to do with the git!”   
  
“I will utterly  _obliterate_ him. There will be  _nothing left_.” Harry hissed, green eyes aflame.   
  
“That  _is_  the definition of obliterate, you know...” Ron said, trying to lighten the mood by pointing out Harry‘s repeating himself, but failed miserably.   
  
  
It was a general rule that no one can touch Hermione Granger. She was the golden girl. And currently, Harry didn’t know what he felt for her, It was confusing as what ice-cream to pick when every flavor was your favorite. His eyes fell away from the note.   
  
 _Potter,  
  
Hermione is dead. Malfoy killed her. I found some of your correspondence in her cabin, and thought it’d be nice to contact you about it. Sorry about the extra, I had to make sure he wouldn’t open it. I never make promises. Don’t attempt to contact back. We pirates are getting very close to winning the game. We’ll be looking forward to fighting some of your men out here. So why don’t you do us a favor, and spice up our lives? We’re bored out here!   
  
Sincerely,   
  
Captain of the Lioness   
  
Susan Bones. _  
  
 _Was she completely mad?_  Harry wondered about Susan. “Spice up their lives?” he asked aloud.   
  
“Dunno, mate. She’s a Hufflepuff. I don’t understand how their minds work. I don’t even think _they_  do.” Ron responded.   
  
If there was anything that Ron knew, it was that Malfoy was going to loose one of his three lives if he ever came into Ron’s line of sight.   
  
“Hufflepuffs.” Harry shook his head. “You can’t live with them, you can’t live without them.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
The Great Hall was silent, a blessing that had been bestowed by the two girls sitting irritably on opposite ends of the hall. The clock chimed twelve times, a sound that vibrated down the old castle walls, and sent bats flying through the night.   
  
Hermione had been waiting there for hours now. She had flashed in at about nine in the evening, and unfortunately, as her luck would have it, 5 minutes after the Great Hall doors were officially shut every night. She had searched and searched for a bell, or any way of contacting or signaling the headmistress to tell her that she needed to be sent back, but to no avail. The doors were definitely locked, and the windows were too stubborn to open. “It’s the middle of the night!” The window panes had squeaked at her. She then realized that she couldn’t do anything if she had in fact, climbed out the window, because then she would have been outside, and therefore would have gotten nowhere.   
  
The world, Fliadopia, wasn‘t floating in the room, as she thought that it would be. Hoped, that it would be, even.  _It must have been transported somewhere where the students couldn’t see it._  Hermione concluded.   
  
So she resorted to sitting Indian-style in the headmaster’s chair, seething in all of her glorious fury. Her hand rubbed the scar that had formed instantly when she passed through the barrier between the game and reality. She picked her shirt up to look at her abdomen. Her eyes narrowed, as the black humor of it all slapped her in the face.   
  
Draco Malfoy had carved an M into her stomach. If Hermione wasn’t furious when he committed the actual deed, she was the pure epitome of raw anger now. Her fingers traced the scar roughly, as if her finger could erase the scar that graced the soft flesh. She had jerked her shirt back on with one motion and put her head down onto the table, to replay the scene.  _Merlin._  She  _hated_  him  _so_  much.   
  
At some point in the memory movie, Hermione had fallen asleep, dreaming of rapiers, and cutlasses cutting the air, and of a treasure whose key was almost unattainable. As usual, her dreams were always productive. Hermione Granger spent so much time thinking about how to solve different situations, that they engrained themselves into her sub-conscious, and as a result, her mind kept working out possible solutions to the challenges, whatever they were, in her sleep.   
  
But right before her mind had found the exact answer, a pure scream of fury had filled the Great Hall, and had Hermione shooting up from her seat, only to behold a seething Raven Trapper in her midst.   
  
Hermione didn’t say anything as the black-haired girl paced the floor of the room thin, muttering coming out of her mouth, and a few swear words as well.   
  
She thought that she had heard her say “Thaddius”, but she couldn’t be sure. So Hermione did the only sensible thing that a girl of her caliber could do. She asked.   
  
Which really didn’t seem like a smart thing, because Raven then pounced on Hermione (verbally, of course) which ensued in a very graphic fight that would have knocked Merlin’s socks off. That is…if he wore socks.   
  
Rumor had it that Merlin wore bright pink fluffy slippers, but no one could affirm the fact, and therefore, it became one of the top 10 greatest mysteries of the wizarding age. Rumor also had it that he wore silk leopard pajamas….   
  
But anyways, Back to the point. After the girls had exchanged some ‘pleasantries’, their ‘hello’s’ became quite loud, and thus had the window pains shrieking in agony.   
  
After several colorful comments and insults were made, only then did the two girls separate and sit on opposite ends of the hall.   
  
Which is where they were now, at the strike of midnight.   
  
Hermione, after finally acknowledging that she could fall asleep again, and that the solution that her mind had worked out wasn’t going to reveal itself by her invisible finger prodding to her brain, she decided that she would try to make the best of the situation, asked, “So, how did you end up here?”   
  
There wasn’t much of a need to project, because the Great Hall was built for acoustics.   
  
Raven paused for a moment, before answering. “A damned Hufflepuff, that’s what.”   
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Susan Bones?”   
  
A grunt was her only reply. After several moments of silence, it was followed by a question. “Who killed you?”   
  
Hermione was taken aback slightly at the girls directness. She sneered as his name was formed on her lips. “Malfoy.”   
  
“Ah.” The syllable was packed with understanding. “Bet that was fun.” Raven said, sarcastically.   
  
“Oh yeah, _loads_.” Hermione replied in a similar tone. “How was the order on his ship, by the way?” she asked curiously.   
  
“I can’t tell you that.” Raven replied, standing up, and walking over to sit near Hermione so that it wasn’t so awkward. Usually, a Slytherin would never place himself, or in this case, herself, near a Gryffindor, but it was after midnight, and they were the only people in the Great Hall, so Raven decided that she would make the best of it. “But what I will tell you is that he  _really_ wants to win this game, and will stop at nothing, even killing people to get what he wants.”   
  
“Tell me about it.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “The treasure was two feet away for Merlin’s sake, and he had to go and stab me!”   
  
“Wait!” Raven interjected. “You saw the treasure?”   
  
“Yeah, I did.” Hermione said, shifting in her seat, trying to get comfortable. “But he lost the swordplay.”   
  
“But he killed you. Obviously, he won.” Raven said bluntly, lying back on the floor.   
  
“He knows that he didn‘t. I manipulated the chest before he had seen it. He‘s probably making a plan to come and find me and torture the secret of me.”   
  
Raven’s eyebrow lifted at this bit of information. “That was quite Slytherin of you.”   
  
“Thanks.” And with an afterthought, “I can’t believe that I’m actually having a civil conversation with you. After the fight that was about 15 minutes ago, we’re doing pretty good.”   
  
“Which means that I am going to stop talking to you right now, because it might ruin my Slytherin reputation.” Raven said. “ We’re not as bad as everyone makes us out to be. We’re just wired different. And the fact that our common room is underwater makes us undeniably fantastic.”   
  
Hermione snorted. So much for being humble.   
  
“What?”   
  
Hermione turned her snort into a cough. “Something in my throat.” She said hoarsely.   
  
But before Raven could say how she completely didn’t believe Hermione, and in fact thought it was a snort.. Well, what else could on do but scream when someone drops on you out of mid air?   
  
Raven could only scream in pain as someone flashed in and landed right smack dab on top of her.   
  
“What is your bloody problem?!?” Raven gasped, pushing of the person, and proceeding to clutch her ribs.   
  
“Don’t you even talk to me, Trapper! You’re not worth the scum underneath my fingernails!” screeched a voice.   
  
Hermione almost felt her ears start bleeding with the recognition of the speaker.   
  
It was none other than Pansy Parkinson, in all of her pug-faced glory.   
  
“You try to steal my Drak-eey from me every time I turn my back, and then you go and screw around with  _my boyfriend_  on his ship! If there was ever a slut in this world, it would be you!”   
  
It was in situations like these that Hermione found that luck wasn’t her friend. In fact, it was an enemy. If she were lucky, she’d have earplugs, or even her wand to silencio the crazy Slytherin. And then she did precisely what she shouldn’t have done. She snorted.   
  
Which in turn caused an immediate silence and alerted Pansy of her presence.   
  
And the fury of a Drama Queen who had a broken fingernail was something to really shake at.   
  
Especially when the Drama queen with the broken fingernail was none other than the captain you had tied to the post of her own ship, and left her there for the seagulls to poo on.   
  
 _How utterly spiffing._    
  
“You.” she spat.   
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”   
  
“You _cow_.”   
  
Hermione smirked. “How can I help you?”   
  
“You  _sodding cow_! How  _dare_  you even speak to me?!” Pansy shrieked, throwing her hands, yes, the one with the broken fingernail too, into the air. “After what you did!”   
  
“What  _I_ did?” Hermione asked, flushing slightly. “ Might I remind you, _dear_  girl, that you were the one who killed Blaise, a member of your own house.”   
  
“I did it for his own good.” Pansy said, her eyes narrowing.   
  
“Oh yes, I see. “ Hermione said with mockery filling her voice. “Like he wasn’t well off anyways. He was perfectly  _fine_  on my ship.” Hermione snarled. Her knuckles were turning white from grasping the armrests to prevent herself from getting up. She really really didn’t want to get into a cat-fight right now. “And please, Parkinson, don’t claim ownership to Draco Malfoy. I’m not sure he’d like that too much. I mean honestly, have you  _seen_  your face?”   
  
So much for avoiding a cat fight.   
  
But Pansy did the unexpected. She raised her eyebrow. “What are you insinuating about Draco? That  _you_  could lay ownership to  _him_? You’re a _Mudblood,_  remember?”   
  
“So?” Hermione asked, shocked by where the conversation was going, and utterly shocked by what she was about to say. “Just because I’m a _Mudblood_  ,as you so  _kindly_  put it, you Pureblood trash, doesn’t mean that your precious Drak-eey doesn’t want me.”   
  
Hermione masked her smirk of triumph when she saw a flicker of uncertainty pass through Pansy’s green eyes. But, it was gone as soon as it came. The Slytherin was back in the game. “Oh really? He wouldn’t even think of you in any sexual manner. Merlin!” She laughed. “He wouldn’t even think of kissing a buck-toothed, bushy-haired, know-it-all, never-take-risks, dirty, filthy, _Mudblood_.” she hissed.   
  
Hermione bristled slightly at the girls comments.  _This whole Mudblood thing is really getting old. “_ Great vocabulary there, Parkinson. Did you Death Eater Mummy teach you that in the cradle?”   
  
For a moment, Pansy seemed as if she was going to explode. Then it was gone. “You are clever.” Pansy said, disbelievingly. “Trying to change the subject. Congratulations,  _beaver_  , you almost succeeded.” And with an after thought, “But as they say, ‘almost’ doesn’t count.”   
  
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Pansy cut her off. “I’ll make a bet with you, Mudblood. One that requires almost nothing of you.”   
  
Hermione didn’t like the sound of that. “What if I don’t agree to this ‘bet’ of yours.” she asked, vindictively.   
  
“You wouldn’t do that.” Pansy said, cleverly.   
  
 _Almost too cleverly,_  Hermione noted. “What makes you think I won’t? Decline the bet, that is.”   
  
Pansy smirked. “You’re a Gryffindor. Getting exercise by pushing your luck. Your kind doesn’t back down from challenges. Especially, when proposed by a Slytherin. It simply isn’t done.” She stated loftily.   
  
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Tell me what the bet and stakes are, and I’ll give you my answer.”   
  
Pansy nodded curtly, leaning on the table, just across from Hermione. Raven stood nearby. “I don’t think you can do this, Parkinson…”   
  
“Haven’t I told you to shut your mouth once, Trapper? Do I have to do it again?”   
  
Before Raven could retort, Hermione cut her off. “It’s Ok, Trapper. I don’t mind a challenge at all.”   
  
Raven shook her head sadly and muttered something. It sounded a lot like ‘You’re not bloody Potter.’   
  
But Hermione could never be sure. Her ears were ringing with adrenaline. She could do this. She could and she knew it. She held all the clues in her hand, and no one could stop her from winning the game. Not even Malfoy.   
  
Pansy’s deep red lips curled into a smile. It made Hermione wonder if such a lip color was possible. It also made her wonder if so much evil could be packed into one person.  _Oh._  she conceded.  _I forgot about Malfoy._  Pansy cocked a brow. “You have to kiss Draco before the game is over. And I don’t mean just any kiss. He has to  _want_ it. You can’t initiate it either. He has to go for it. It’s like--”   
  
“I get the point, Parkinson. Make Malfoy want me, and make out with me.  _Fine._  If that’s the way you want it. Well, that’s just  _peachy_. If you could tell me what the stakes are?”   
  
Pansy narrowed her eyes slightly. “ If you win, I will publicly apologize, in the Great Hall during the congratulations dinner, that I am so very sorry for calling you a Mudblood, and admit that you are the brightest witch of our age.”   
  
Hermione narrowed her honey eyes as she sized Pansy up. The girl was wearing similar attire to herself. White blouse, black breaches (in Hermione’s case, dark brown) and boots to match. She wore a belt from which hung her bronze cutlass hung freely, right where Pansy could reach in a split-seconds notice. Hermione’s gold cutlass hung the same way. Both girls had muskets, but Hermione’s was missing. She had lost hers in the cliffs somewhere.  _Most likely on the bridge_. She thought. But all in all, she knew she could take on Pansy.   
  
 _After all,_  she mused,  _I’ve already defeated her once_. “You  _do_  know, Parkinson, that saying ‘sorry’ means that you’re  _never_ going to do it again?”   
  
Pansy scoffed. “No, I didn’t, Granger. Thanks for so  _gladly_ reminding me.” she said sarcastically.   
  
“And If I lose?”   
  
The question was inevitable, and Pansy was more than eager to respond. “You have to, publicly, announce that you are a Mudblood. That you understand that Pure-Bloods are of a higher status, and that you will never be as good as Draco Malfoy.  _Ever.”_    
  
“Well, that’s not so bad.” Hermione thought. “If I win, you get publicly humiliated, and If you win, I get publicly humiliated. Sounds fair to me.”   
  
“So we have an accord?” Pansy asked, her hand gliding out to meet hers. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at the old fashioned language.   
  
“You’ve a wager, Parkinson.”   
  
Their hands met, and they shook, briefly. Hermione tried to free her hand from Pansy’s grasp, but found that she couldn’t. “If you wanted to hold my hand, Parkinson, all you had to do was say so.” Hermione sneered.   
  
Pansy ignored her. “Trapper, I need you to perform the binding spell.   
  
“What?” Hermione asked all too innocently. “You don’t trust me?”   
  
“Not one bit.” Pansy answered, rolling her eyes.   
  
After performing the binding spells, and the vows, their hands jerked apart. Hermione now had a brilliant ring of a snake curled around her pinky finger on her right hand. She tried to pull it off, but it wouldn’t go. After an affirmative glance, she found that Pansy had one as well.   
  
And  _Merlin,_  did it burn. But of course, Hermione was above showing any outward pain. She glared at Pansy, and sat back down in her seat.   
  
“It won’t come off until you’ve finished your part of the bargain. If you kiss him, it’ll come off. Mine won’t, not until I’ve fulfilled my part of the stakes. If you don’t win, however, and I know that you won’t,” She added confidently, “Because he would  _never_ kiss a girl like you--”   
  
“I do believe that we’ve covered that particular area.” Hermione said, slightly aggravated at the girl. “Please tell me something I don’t know.”   
  
  
If slightly meant that she really wanted to strangle the Slytherin until she couldn’t breath….Well then yes, Hermione was slightly aggravated.   
  
“Oh, so you admit that he would never kiss you!” Pansy exclaimed, smirking. “I was right.”   
  
“Sorry, let me rephrase that. Tell me something I  _care_ to know.”   
  
Pansy was at the end of her rope. She was so tired of being outwitted by this Gryffindor Mudblood. “As I was  _saying_. “ she gritted through her even white teethe. Hermione was sure that they had been magicked to look that way. “If you don’t kiss him, and lose the bet, mine will come off once the game ends. Yours will not. It will burn your finger off if you don’t fulfill the stakes.”   
  
Hermione nodded simply, but decided to speak out the thought that crossed her mind. “ You know, I don’t think that’s quite fair. Your pinky has a broken nail, and therefore has less worth than mine, and you could afford to loose it.” She continued, oblivious to Pansy’s mounting anger. “My pinky, on the other hand, has a perfectly normal nail, and therefore, I believe is being compromised in this situation.” She finished smartly, smirking at Pansy.   
  
 _My, my. Someone would have been a GREAT Slytherin_. Raven conceded. And before Pansy could blow up again, she broke the anger in the air. “How did you get here, by the way?” Raven asked, trying to maintain a safe distance from the Slytherin that was turning a nice shade of puce at the moment. She edged over closer to Hermione. She shot an apologetic at the honey-eyed girl, and turned her attention to Pansy.   
  
And it seemed as if her, her being Pansy, anger had been channeled from Hermione to someone else. “Ronald Weasley.” she growled, digging her nails into the wood of one of the tables.   
  
“Ronald?” Hermione said in shock. _Ron would never kill someone._    
  
“The bastard hung me!”   
  
“Ron hung you?” Hermione asked, incredulously. She couldn’t believe it!   
  
“No, you idiot, he gave me lollipops!”   
  
Ok, so maybe she could. This was Pansy that they were talking about here. In a situation with her, there were only two options. Commit suicide, or kill her. Hermione would have chosen the latter as well.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be such a bint about it.”   
  
“Why don’t you just go read a book,  _Mudblood,_  and save us from your stupid questions.”   
  
“Well, why don’t you just stuff it, Parkinson?. “ Hermione replied, already tired of the game that Pansy was trying to play. “Just be a good little girl and zip those ugly red things you call your lips. Speaking of your lips,” Hermione said, wanting to voice her thoughts from earlier, ‘Is it even _natural_ to have lips that color?”   
  
Pansy couldn’t take it anymore. First, the Mudblood had insulted her nails, then her lips, then her intelligence… and also the fact that Draco _wasn’t,_  in fact,  _hers_. It infuriated her! So she did the only thing that she, and only she, being the drama queen that she was, could pull off without a hitch.   
  
She let out a scream that made the window pains shriek even louder than before. Hermione felt a thread of pity reach out for them. That pity was forgotten when her own ears began to shriek at her. Just when the other two girls were about to faint on the floor from the horrendous screeching symphony, curiously of Pansy, who seemed to have some sort of cursed banshee ancestors, as she had clearly proven with her voice, the Great Hall doors swung open with a BANG.   
  
Pansy immediately shut up.   
  
Hermione was thankful for a single moment until she realized who had opened the doors.   
  
It was the Headmistress herself in her leopard nightgown.   
  
The girls were lost for words.   
  
“What in  _Merlin_  is going on here?” she shrilled.   
  
No one said a word.   
  
 _She must have shrews for ancestors._  Raven thought. It could happen..  _With all that shrilling that she does.._  
“Well?” McGonagall prompted, looking from face to face, waiting for an answer.   
  
Hermione, being the brave Gryffindor she was, went straight to the point. “I didn’t know that you wore leopard pajamas, I thought that you always wore tartans.…”   
  
Minerva shot her a disapproving look, “What I chose to wear when I go to sleep, is none of your business, Miss Granger.”   
  
She looked at the other two. "I’ll just get you all resorted then, so I can go back to sleep!” She grabbed Raven by the arm and conjured up a wall between them so that she could converse privately with the student inside, so that she could decide where to put them. The headmistress stepped through a door that just appeared in the wall, and pulled Raven in behind her. The door clicked shut.   
  
Which left Pansy seething at Hermione.   
  
 _Yay._    
  
“Foam at the mouth anymore, Parkinson, and people will think you have rabies.” Hermione supplied.   
  
“Shut your filthy mouth, Mudblood.” Pansy retorted, anger flaming in her green eyes.   
  
“Oooh, great comeback. I daresay, your mother would be proud of you!” Hermione said, sarcastically.   
  
Before Pansy could reply at this second quip to her mother, the headmistress strode out from the room and grabbed her by the arm and drug her through the wall. Pansy shot a look that Hermione interpreted as “T _his isn’t over.. And don’t forget about the bet."_  Her eyes shot down to Hermione’s fingers. Then she was gone.   
  
After a few moments, Minerva and Pansy walked out of the wall. The headmistress was the first to speak. “We seem to have a problem transferring Miss Parkinson back to the game. I cannot to so without her signet, and as Miss Parkinson has informed me, you had taken it away from her in the game.”   
  
“ _So_ , give it  _back.”_  Pansy said, anger lacing her voice and contorting her almost pretty face.   
  
“The choice,” the Professor said to Hermione, “Whether she goes back or not, is yours. You may restore her signet to her, or your may keep it and demand that she stay here.”   
  
Hermione could almost see a pleading emotion in the old woman’s eyes, asking her to let Pansy back into the game. Hermione gave a small shake of her brown curls. “I’m afraid that Pansy will not be returning to the game. I have plans to fulfill, and I can not be bothered by her. “ She said, pointing to Pansy’s direction.   
  
Pansy’s eyes flared, but before she could say anything, McGonagall had made her decision, and silenced Pansy. “Looks like you’ll be staying here until the game is over.” She said to Pansy, with a very very tight smile. “Welcome back to Hogwarts.”   
  
Pansy began to shriek in fury. Minerva simply snapped her fingers, and Pansy flew out the double doors with considerable speed. Hermione was sure that Pansy hadn’t done it entirely willingly. “I really do wish that you had let her back into the game. I’d really rather not put up with her.”   
  
Hermione smiled apologetically. “Better you than me.”   
  
The headmistress pursed her lips characteristically. “This may seem like a rather odd question, but have any books fallen from the sky during your duration in the game thus far?”   
  
Hermione was taken aback by the question, but she pulled her pack from her shoulder and nodded as she pulled out the worn copy of  _Peter Pan_. “Do you mind my asking, Professor," she paused before asking her question. But as she was Gryffindor, she gathered up the courage and asked, “why in the world you would write such a book?” Hermione asked, cryptically.   
  
The Headmistress sat down, and implored for Hermione to sit down as well. Hermione raised a brow to a twinkling that she had never seen in her prudent teachers’ eyes before.   
  
She was swarmed with memories of her past, as her eyes glittered in an almost sinister way, that made Hermione shiver.   
  
“You see, Miss Granger, I was once in love with Tom Marvolo Riddle.” 


	12. Unlikely

Hermione’s eyes were on the verge of popping out of her head, and her mouth was gaping open. Attractive, she knew. “You  _what?”_    
  
The headmistress did not look too pleased when she saw Hermione’s expression, but then again, how else could you expect someone to react when you told them that you had fallen in love with  _the_  darkest wizard of all time?   
  
“I was once in love with Tom Marvolo Riddle.” she repeated.   
  
Hermione’s face instantly changed. From agog, it went to curious. Excited, yet slightly unnerved at the same time. “Did Professor Dumbledore know about this?” she asked quickly. Her words echoed through the Great Hall, sound bouncing of the benches and tables.   
  
“Yes, I daresay he did,” Minevera said, a sadness streaking through her brown eyes. Her glasses were perched crookedly on her face. She straightened them out.   
  
“It actually started here, at Hogwarts.” She said, gesturing with her hands to the large room around her, and took a seat in the headmaster’s chair, where Hermione had been sitting earlier. Hermione perched on the table, leaning in to hear the story.   
  
It wasn’t everyday that The Headmistress of Hogwarts had story time, and Hermione would be a fool to pass the opportunity up.   
  
“I was a year older, he was a year younger. He was in Slytherin, and I was in Gryffindor. I had no reason to even acknowledge his presence until Professor Dumbledore started sending him to classes that were a year above his yearly status, which in conclusion, placed him in every one of my classes. He was there, every minute of the day, answering all the questions before I could even raise my hand. He annoyed the mickey out of me! I really don’t know when I began to see him as a romantic prospect..”   
  
Hermione had no idea how to accept this information. Her mind was trying to reject it. It had to be rubbish! Voldemort… Romantic Prospect? It was all Hermione could do not to snort aloud. But she was curious. Very,  _very_  curious… It was for that reason, and that reason  _only_ , that Hermione kept her mouth shut. She felt, that if she would talk, the professor wouldn’t tell her the rest of the story. So, she remained silent.   
  
“He was tall,” McGonagall said, her eyes glazing over with many memories of the past. Hermione could almost see them flashing in those dark eyes…   
  
“His black hair was always combed and parted, not in the middle, as the fashion was those days, but to the side. Always swept to the side… His eyes were something else though. They were full of wisdom, something that attracted me when I began to notice him. They were dark and entrancing. I found that if I looked deep enough into them, I could almost drown. It was… so  _overwhelming.”_    
  
She paused for a moment, as if she had never told this story to anyone before. Hermione held her breath. She probably hadn’t told this particular version before. Hermione couldn’t fathom the headmistress telling the former headmaster this version. She assumed that it was just a factual, not a fantastical version.   
  
“It was my sixth year, Ton’s fifth, that I became fully aware of him. He was receiving top marks in _all_  of my classes, except for transfiguration. That was my territory, but he was always a mere point below me. He had this, certainty about him, and I was convinced that the people that who he called ‘friends‘, were not there for friendship. They respected him, for that aura of knowing what he was doing, and why he was doing it all the time. He could make things move, without even touching them! It was beyond incredible.” The Headmistress’s voice took on a dreamy quality.   
 _  
Yup. She’s definitely in story land…_  
“To be his age, and to be able perform wand less magic. Well, it was unheard of! He also had this strange obsession with his heritage,“ she added with an afterthought. “He wore the Slytherin name with the cunning, purpose, and ambition, that only he could pull off. He was a  _brilliant_ student, Miss Granger. Maybe even more so than yourself.”   
  
Hermione did her best not to take offense. But then again, he was  _the_ darkest wizard of all time..   
  
“He had become a prefect by the time he had reached fourth year. He was appointed head boy by the time he was in sixth. Our introductions, few as they were, were subtle. We both had a passion for knowledge, and please, Miss Granger,” She said with a pleading voice, shaking Hermione out of her mental illustrations, “Don’t judge me for what I’m about to tell you.”   
  
Hermione nodded her ascent. She could hardly believe what Minevera was telling her anyways. It was like an utterly  _absurd_  fairy tale.   
  
“For I have told no one else any of this but Albus, and I feel the right that you deserve an explanation, since you were the one who found the book.”   
  
Hermione didn’t say anything. She wanted desperately for the headmistress to continue. The clock ominously chimed one, yet Minevera continued with her tale of forbidden love.   
  
“We both had a passion for knowledge, and were frequently visiting the school library. Sometimes it was ‘Hello, how is your day?’, sometimes is was just a curt nod, and at times, it was nothing at all. Even though house pride was prevalent, it wasn’t uncommon for Gryffindors and Slytherins to speak to each other. It was nothing like the hatred between the houses that exists now.”   
  
This, Hermione already knew. The rift between the two houses was growing larger with every passing day. She had to give props to the headmistress for setting up the game of ‘Pirates’. It allowed students from separate houses to bond and respect each other. Hermione never thought that she would see Susan Bones in a different light. After the game however… Hermione did. Minevera continued;   
  
“He was an intriguing young man, his black hair combed over in such a way that made many girls swoon. Even most of the Gryffindor female students were besotted with his devilishly good looks. He had a piano-players fingers, long and supple. He was never quick to smile, but when he did, it lit up the room. His laughter was like liquid chocolate. The only peculiar thing that caught my attention, was that no single, solitary person, could make him smile. It was always provoked by information from books, from knowledge.”   
  
“That was why I became attracted to him, so fiercely, that I didn’t know where to put myself. Suddenly, I found myself seeking him out in corridors, just trying to catch his eye. I felt absurd, but giddy at the same time. I thought, perhaps I was a fool, until one day,” she paused, as if debating whether she really should tell Hermione this.   
  
Hermione couldn’t breath. She had never thought of Voldemort in this way. And it was new to her. It was like, thinking about Draco Malfoy in a romantic prospective. … Unnerving, unsettling… and… _Curious?_   _Surely not._  Hermione batted the thought out of the way, and urged the teacher with her eyes to continue.   
  
“We were both in the restricted section of the library. My hair pins had fallen out, and I had had a very long day. He was beating me out in every class you see, but my own, and it seemed as if it he was doing it without even trying! He was always looking about books to do with power, or legends, or even family histories and lineages… Never material about what we were studying at that time. He read all and only for his own pleasure.”   
  
“ He was favored by Albus, the headmaster. Even though Albus never showed it, I knew that he did. So, I concluded that I had to spend my every moment in the library, sometimes even skipping meals, to try to beat him. Surely, I could not let a Slytherin beat a Gryffindor. It was unheard of!”   
  
“He didn’t know about the rivalry, of course, it was all on my side. I had become obsessed with him. In other words, I was just like all of the other girls in our house, and had become besotted with the boy, albeit in a different way.” Her tone, for a moment, had turned defensive. Hermione could understand why. To have a crush on Voldemort?  _Professor McGonagall probably looks back on it and has the godfather of nightmares._ Hermione suppressed a shudder.   
  
“I was in the restricted section of the library, leaning on one of the ladders, reading from a book that I had pulled from the one of the shelves, from between a book about souls, and one about charms, when I heard a ladder being rolled next to mine. I, of course, did not look up, for I had studying to do, and I really didn’t think it would matter who it was, they probably just needed to study, which was the same reason that I was there. Little did I know that it was  _him._  He perched at about the same level as I was on my ladder, on his, and looked at the book I was holding. He shook his head lightly, took a book from the shelf and made himself comfortable.   
  
“I glanced over at him, not knowing what to do with his sudden proximity. He ignored the glance. It was infuriating, it truly was! I didn’t want to say anything, because it seemed as if he knew exactly what I was doing the whole time! (Trying to beat him, of course.) I glanced over again to see if he had moved at all, when I caught his gaze. He wasn’t looking at the book, as I thought he would have been. He wasn’t looking around the room, or even down at his long fingers. He was looking straight at me, with a smile playing on his lips. My mouth had gone dry, and I thought, that if I spoke, I would squeak like a mouse in a trap. So he decided that he would have to do the honors.”   
  
“:   
  
“Minerva, isn’t it?” He said, with that charming smile of his.   
  
All I could do was nod.   
  
“You know, Minnie,” he said, leaning in, so that he could whisper in my ear, “that your name comes from the Roman Goddess of Wisdom?”   
  
“Yes,” I answered, quickly, instantly warming up to his nickname for me.. My heart was beating so rapidly, I was afraid he’d notice.   
  
“You’d still be a goddess, even if that wasn’t your name.” He replied, leaning back. He flourished his hand in the air, and, I’ll never know  _how_  he did it, but he produced a blood red rose, and gave it to me. “Beauty for beauty,” He had said, looking me straight in the eyes. I almost drowned in them. He smiled his world lighting smile at me, and then left, taking the book that he had taken off the shelf with him.   
  
The only thing that he had left behind to remind me of his presence was the rose and the Goosebumps that had risen on my neck from his voice alone.   
  
After that meeting, we saw each other more frequently, he with a rose, or even a shining star, and I with my wisdom. We, or at least, I , forgot that we were in rival houses. Together, we wrote this book,” she said, looking down at the worn copy of peter pan. “I had changed. He was all that I thought about. Secretly, he had invaded my mind, my dreams, my thoughts…”   
  
“We met secretly in little alcoves in the corridors. He pulled me into secret rooms and broom cupboards when I least expected it. He stole kisses from me, and I from him. I had never broken the rules, ever. But he convinced me too. It was kind of fun,” Minevera acknowledged, having long forgotten that Hermione was there, “breaking the rules. I had fallen head over heels for him. I was in love, and I thought that he loved me back. At the end of my 7th year term, we had done much more than kiss. We went as far as any teenage couple could do. And it was magnificent.”   
  
:.”   
  
 _Yes,_  Hermione thought.  _She has definitely forgotten that I am here._ Hermione didn’t know whether to panic, laugh, go into hysterics, or to just keep listening. Because, when Minevera McGonagall was talking about intercourse (Hermione didn’t use the three letter word, because it brought up immature giggling and blushing (especially from the Bloody Baron,  _the immature Slytherin ghosty_ , and it annoyed her to tears) and described it as  _magnificent.?_ Well.. One could only wonder…   
  
“I could make him smile, and I could make him laugh. His laugh was truly wonderful, it just filled me with indescribable joy. It was my last day, you see, he had one more year left of schooling, when he kissed me goodbye. I didn’t understand why he was doing so, or why he was telling me to never see him again. He just said that he didn’t want me to get hurt. So I trusted him. He told me that he didn’t want to leave me, and that he loved me with all of his heart, and I believed him. He told me to never come back to find him, and kissed me goodbye.”   
  
“Confused, and hurt, I left and began taking my education for a degree in teaching Transfiguration. I hadn’t seen or heard from him again, until January of 1961. I was 34. Just a few days before, I celebrated his 33rd birthday with him there.”   
  
“He visited my home when one of the biggest blizzards of the year was blowing outside my window. When he knocked, I answered. I didn’t know how I knew, but I knew it was him. He wore his cloak; he stood in the doorway alone. I fainted from shock. All those years I had been pining after him. I had missed him so, his quick wit, his charming smile.   
  
“:   
  
When I came to, he was still sitting, his cloak over his face. I sat up, and walked over to him, to take of his hood, when uttered one word:   
  
“Don’t.”   
  
It was a word that was uttered pleadingly.   
  
I couldn’t understand why, he wouldn’t want me to see his face. I was a grown woman by then. I could make my own choices. “Tom?”   
  
He answered my first thought.   
  
“You don’t want to see what I have become.”   
  
Well, If that remorseful statement didn’t pique my curiosity, I don’t know what else could have. I reached for the hood, and he didn’t stop me. He just sighed. When it finally came down, however, I had to force myself not to scream.   
  
His hair was still parted to the side, but it was no longer a rich black, it seemed like a dead, dying color. His eyes were still dark, but they were not inviting, nor were they entrancing. They had closed to the world, and had become tunnel-visioned. The whites around his eyes were bloodshot. His skin had turned a waxy color, as if he hadn’t been in the sunlight for years.   
  
I was afraid for him. I reached out to touch his face. He flinched when my fingers grazed his cheek. He was cold…So  _cold.._  I didn’t understand why. I cupped his face in my hands, and did the only thing I could do to see if the man that I loved was still there..   
  
I kissed him, and felt nothing but coldness. There was no passion anymore, and love, and desire…   
  
That was when I knew it was all over. I was devastated with that feeling as I pulled back, and he just looked at me, a wry smile forming on his lips. But it wasn’t the smile that he had before, the one that I fell in love with. “You amaze me, ‘Minnie.”   
  
His use of his old nickname for me made me break inside. I couldn’t say anything to him. I just stepped away from the shell of the man that I used to love, shaking my head imploringly, pinching myself, trying to fathom if this was a nightmare, or if it was real life.   
  
“I’m so sorry that I left you, ‘Minnie.” He said softly. The only shred of hope I had left, was that it was the same voice. I was scared to hear his laughter… “I still love you, you know that.”   
  
I nodded my head, and then realized what I felt when I had kissed him. It was as if part of him wasn’t there, as if I only felt a piece of the whole. And then I realized, it all came flying back to me. The book that he had taken off the shelf from beside mine was called, “Splitting the Soul.” I don’t know why I remembered that specific title, for it was insignificant at the time. I was horrified. “Tom. You didn’t…”   
  
He nodded, silently, knowing that I had remembered. Whether he refreshed the memory for me, or whether I remembered it on my own, I’ll never know.”   
  
:.”   
  
She was speaking with a sadness now, that almost wrenched Hermione’s heart. Minevra’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. Hermione closed her eyes, unable to watch the professor’s grief stricken face any longer.   
  
“:   
  
“I’m so sorry.” He had told me. “I was consumed by my need for power. I  _killed_  people, ‘Minnie. I didn’t even know their _names!”_  He had exclaimed, putting his hands in his face, his long, once graceful fingers, pale and sickly looking. I forced down a shiver. “I’m scared.” he whispered into the darkness.   
  
I knew that he was, but in that moment. I was appalled. I knew that I couldn’t forgive him. “I’m sorry.”   
  
He broke before me, right then, and there. It was as if he knew what those two words implied, as if he knew that I could never love him again, as if I could never accept him for who he had become.   
  
But he never cried. I don’t remember seeing a single tear on his face, or a shimmer in his cold, bloodshot eyes. He was scared, and he was sorry, but the fact was, the one that shined brighter than all of them…He was empty.   
  
I told him to get out of my house. The anger that welled up in his eyes in that instant frightened me. He laughed.   
  
I’ll never forget the way that he laughed. It was no longer the splashing chocolate sound that would wrap you in happiness.. It was like a bucket of cold water being splashed over me. He pulled me close, and kissed me one last time, but I felt nothing, but remorse for the man he had become. Yes, I still loved  _him,_  but not what he had turned into. He stepped back from me, and these words, I’ll never forget. He looked me dead on in the eyes, and said, softly, lethally;   
  
“I am about to conquer the world, ‘Minnie. I wish that you could be at my right hand to help me to do it. You were, _are_ , so smart, my goddess of wisdom. _But_ ,” he added, with remorse and conviction, and a slight tone of accusation, “You have become  _weak._  You loved the weaker version of me, the schoolboy who stole you away into broom cupboards to steal kisses from your beautiful lips. I am  _not_ that mere boy anymore. I am strong, and  _no one_  will defeat me. You are  _sorry._  I am  _not_. But I give this one promise to you: I will never harm you. No matter what happens, ‘Minnie, I will  _always_ love you, with all of my soul, put  _together.”_  He pulled a red rose, out of thin air, just like he had the first time, and placed it in my hands.  _“Always_.”   
  
I reached out to his fading face. “Tom..” I whispered, feeling my heart begin to break, the cracks widening, threatening to fall apart...   
  
He smiled, a cold cruel smile, that froze the blood freezing through my veins. “It‘s Voldemort, ‘Minnie.”   
  
My heart shattered, then he was gone. I cried for days, sorrow racking my soul. I became bitter.   
  
:.”   
  
  
“In 1981, 20 years of his ‘purity’ raids around the country later, the whole world thought that he had died, defeated by a baby, who was a mere year old. I was  _heartbroken._  Many thought that I mourned for Lily and James, which I did. They were my students, and I care for my students.”   
  
“But mostly, I cried for  _him._  I _loved_  him. You cannot  _imagine_  the tumult of emotions that I felt when I found that he was alive! Sadness, bitterness, love, joy…”   
  
“But when I saw what he was doing, had done to Harry’s life, to the world around him…I could bear it no longer. I had grown bitter, you see, by the words that he had left me. For I knew his soul could never be put together again, and by separating himself, he had destroyed who he was. He never really _understood_  love. We played childish games, and love didn’t have enough time to develop. So I sided with Dumbledore, even though it broke my heart to do so. I was going to fight everything that Tom had become, and would remain.”   
  
Minevera was long gone, pulled into the pensieve of her memories. Hermione, seemed to be there with her. It was a timeless moment.   
  
“I fought him, in the final battle. It broke my heart, to see, that he didn’t remember me at all. He even sent a killing curse my direction. It was right before Harry killed him, though, that his gaze locked with mine. If he was ever remorseful, it had been in that moment.”   
  
“But alas, it wasn’t enough to save him from all the deeds which he had done. He could never put his soul back together, and he would never love again. But I do know that when he died, he was sorry. He understood where I was coming from that night he visited my home.”   
  
Silence filled the Great Hall. One could have heard a feather float through the air… A bubble pop, or even a ripple of the house banners that hung from the ceiling…   
  
“And that” Minevera finished softly, “Is how this book came to be written.”   
  
Hermione looked her teacher, eyes glazed with immeasurable sadness and understanding. “I… Professor…you..”   
  
“It’s quite alright, Miss Granger.” The Professor said with a tight smile. “It’s overwhelming. But, I really do need to get my sleep, so I do believe that I need to re-instate you into the game.”   
  
“The game?” Hermione asked puzzled. Then it all hit her. Hermione had forgotten that there was a game that she needed to finish, and a wager to be settled! The story had been so entrancing, that Hermione even forgot that there was a world around her.   
  
The Headmistress didn’t say anything, clearly knowing that her story was shocking.   
  
“That story just made me respect you more, Professor. Thank you for sharing it with me.” Hermione said, truthfully, hoping that the headmistress didn’t regret it.   
  
Minevera nodded. “I needed to tell someone, anyways.”   
  
Hermione remained silent. She was still trying to store the story into her mind. It was so incredible!   
  
“I think that you can win this game, Miss Granger. I just think you need to watch your emotions rather carefully. There are several people in there, that would like to kill you, and want to win as much as you do.”   
  
 _Yeah. Like Malfoy and his branding habits. The git._  Hermione simply nodded.   
  
“Would you like any scars removed?” The headmistress asked plainly.   
  
Hermione opened her mouth, and thought about getting the ‘M’ removed. Deciding that she could carve her own initials into his face once she was through with him, she decided not to. _An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a bloody scar for a bloodier scar._ Hermione smirked.  _Alls fair in war and pirates. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to cheat a little._  
  
“No professor.” Hermione said with certainty.   
  
“What about the ‘X’ on your cheek?” Minerva replied, stifling a yawn.   
  
Hermione reached up to her cheek, confused for a moment, then realized…It was the X that Draco had slashed there. “I’ll keep this one, thank you.”  _Oh boy, is he going to get it._  
For a moment, Minevera looked slightly befuddled for a moment, but then regained her calm exterior. She stifled a yawn again. It was plain to see that the headmistress was emotionally and physically worn out. It _was_  almost two in the morning, after all.   
  
“Professor, do you think you could reinitiate me now?” Hermione asked, all of the sudden eager to get back. She had things to do!   
  
The headmistress nodded, her index finger tapping her chin.   
  
“Now. Where to put you...”   
  
Hermione was taken by complete and utter surprise as the world disappeared around her, crashing around her ears. Colors whirled around her body, her senses gone with the wind. Hermione closed her eyes, waiting for the impact to hit her in the gut, before she knew it, she had promptly passed out…   
  
Later..   
  
Hermione woke up, muscles cringing from the odd position that she had fallen asleep in. She opened her eyes slowly, feeling the atmosphere of the game around her. Instantly, she knew that she was back in the game, back to the wager, and _back to that bloody snow white ferret, Malfoy…_    
  
There was something slightly off though. It was an odd feeling, that had been making her skin prickle ever since the came too… She flexed her senses, trying to perceive what was bothering her.   
  
Then it hit her, like a quiet, deadly, tsunami; she could hear  _nothing._  
All was absolutely _silent_.   
  
Hermione felt a feeling rush through her body. It was one that she wasn’t best friends with…  
  
But she could say that she was fairly acquainted.   
  
She didn’t welcome it’s haughty presence  _at all._    
  
It was a tendril of fear.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Susan Bones, the new captain of the  _Lioness,_  was standing in her quarters. The whole crew was with her, looking at a map that was splayed across the table.   
  
Her pin-straight, dark brown hair fell into her cryptic brown eyes. She was uncannily pretty for a Hufflepuff, but not nearly enough to even compare to some of the Slytherins or the Gryffindors, although she probably could give Pansy a run for her galleons.   
  
Ever since Susan was a young girl, she was always bullied, always looked over. She wasn’t the smartest person alive, but neither was she the dumbest. She had her bright and shining moments. This, was definitely one of them.   
  
“So this is what we  _do_ know,” she said, with a commanding air. No one was going to bully her now. She was Hermione’s  _confidant!_  When Hermione was alive, of course. “Hermione is going to be re-issued into the game, if she hasn’t been already. The rules,” She said, pulling out a book from the former captain’s shelf and flipping it open, “Say that you won’t be re-issued into the game if you get hung, or if your signet is taken away. This was a new addition as of yesterday.” she shut the book and put it back on the shelf.   
  
“Another thing that we know, is that if anyone would have won this blasted game, it would have been won yesterday, between Hermione and Malfoy. The treasure obviously has a key of some-sort, and neither Hermione, nor Malfoy have it. Else wise, all of us would be back at school.”   
  
A series of nods let her know that they agreed with everything that she was saying. Susan grinned inwardly. She felt like a true Ravenclaw. “This means, that they keys are no where on the ships, and since Malfoy’s ship is sailing around without a purpose,” She said, gesturing to the black ship that was sailing around on the Ships Map, “That it’s not on any of the islands. My best guess is that it’s in Fliadopia.”   
  
Several gasps erupted from the room.   
  
“But we can’t go there--”   
  
“We’ll be killed!”   
  
“Are you bloody well  _out of your mind?!?”_    
  
“I’m a pirate, remember? And so are all of you, in case you forgot,” Susan pointed out. “If you can’t believe in yourselves, then what’s the point in even playing this game at all? I know that we all want to be the ones that turn the key in the lock of the bloody treasure, but I think that the only person who has a right to do so from out crew is Hermione herself!“ Susan said with zest and passion. She was loyal to Hermione, this much they all noticed.   
  
“She led us, she figured out the clues, she stood up to Malfoy, which is something that most of us, scratch that, that none of us would do!” She said, exasperated. “She was the captain of this ship, and we need to help her win this game.”   
  
Thaddius looked at Susan, his protests defeated. “Alright, captain. What’s the plan?”   
  
Susan grinned, a malicious, piratic look dancing in her eyes.   
  
“Well, this is what we have to do…”   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione slowly stood up, slightly crouched, for balance. The darkness was overwhelming, but she pushed that fact aside. It didn’t matter. All that she needed to do was find a door.   
  
After walking around blindly for several moments, and stubbing her toe quite painfully several times, Hermione slapped herself on the head; mentally, of course. Self-harm would get her nowhere.  _Am I a witch, or what?_  She asked herself, irritated at her own stupidity. She pulled her wand out her breeches pocket and whispered,  _‘Lumos.’_  
The room instantly lit up. She realized in a split moment where she was. Barrels of some sort of liquid and gunpowder were surrounding her. Dry meat hung from the ceiling. She was in the hold. She looked around for some sort of identification mark, to tell her what ship she was on, but found none. Since it  _was_  night, she couldn’t really even tell what kind of wood that ship was made of. On the opposite wall was a door.   
  
She walked hesitantly to the escape route, feeling the swaying of waves under her feet. She staggered for a moment for balance, but regained her ‘sea-legs’ in the passing of a split moment. She was Hermione Granger. Captain of the Lioness. She could take on anyone, wherever she was.  _I just can’t_ kill  _anyone_. She thought, with determination.  _And Malfoy, luckily, doesn’t qualify._    
  
Honestly, she really didn’t know if she could kill him. Sure, turnabout was fair-play, but Hermione wasn’t the average chess player. She’d get him back in ways that he could never imagine. She would instill fear into the Slytherin Prince. And _by Merlin_ , she would do it well.   
  
She pulled the door open, the fear fleeing from her veins until there wasn’t a trace of it in her body.   
  
Hermione Granger became the epitome of Gryffindor in that moment.   
  
The next moment, however, the fear came running back. What she saw chilled her to the bone, and threatened to freeze her to the spot. She rubbed her eyes.   
  
 _Nope, still there._  
Hermione supressed a shudder.  
  
 _This had BETTER be a nightmare._    
  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco Malfoy was furious. His hair was tousled, his shirt was bloody, his side really hurt, and he had a massive headache.  _If that Mudblood out-wits me **one more time**  I bloody swear that I will utterly destroy her existence!_ He thought savagely as the wind whipped through his hair.   
  
Night had fallen, and had encompassed the world of Fliadopia like a black form fitting glove on a fair lady’s gentle white hand. Draco could have cared less. The silence that embodied the ship was obsolete. Nothing made a sound, not even the waves that kissed the ship with its silent passing. It was one of the qualities that he had instilled into the  _Silent Shadow_  when he created it. Even though he dearly wanted to, He had resisted the urge to stomp around, because, well… Malfoy’s simply don’t stomp. It was on  _The List;_  An ingenious creation contrived by one of his wacky ancestors, about the things that a Malfoy could not do. There were about 235 things on the list, and they were infused into every young Malfoy’s life from a young age. Draco was no different.   
  
His soft lips were twisted into a hard frown as the wind played a quiet game of ‘tag’ with the  _Silent Shadow_. He simply did not know what to do next. _Killing Granger was a mistake,_ he conceded,  _A drastic mistake._  
He realized it now. It shocked him severely, because he usually didn’t make mistakes, ever… and now, the only time that he really did make one, it was one that was detrimental to the results of the game. For all he knew, she had been re-issued into the game as the captain of her ship, or she could now be in Harry’s protection.  _If she hadn’t made me so angry, maybe I wouldn’t have…_  
The color blanched from his face with the realization.  _Lost control… Maybe I wouldn’t have… Blast!_  
He closed his eyes to the wind.  _I lost control._  That was another of the things that Malfoy’s didn’t do under any circumstance.   
  
 _Well, there goes that._  Draco thought wryly.   
  
Draco hated everything that Hermione was. He couldn’t stand her. The fact that he underestimated her (slightly) really vexed him. She wasn’t supposed to be able to vex him. She was nothing but a simple Mudblood. Nothing would change that. She did get attractive, but he wouldn’t admit that. Never admitting or denying anything made Draco a more mysterious person. He liked that, but he had never ever lost control like that. He had  _killed_  the only clue that he had to getting the treasure.  _Literally._    
  
He had nipped the situation right in the bud. He knew exactly how to fix it.  _I’m going to kill her again._ After he got the clue of course, because then, he could simply win the game while she was re-issued into the game as Cho’s maid servant, or something like that. If she wasn’t one already.   
  
Thinking about killing her made him immensely happy.  _One less Mud-blood to worry about,_ he thought, a sinister curl forming on his lips.   
  
“Why are you smirking like you just got away with stealing your aunt Bellatrix’s chocolate without getting caught?”   
  
“Because, Blaise, you charming old chap, I have figured out how to win this game,” he told his dark-skinned house-mate, who had walked up beside him. Draco thought that he heard a door creak open, but he waved the thought away. Doors didn’t creak on the  _Silent Shadow._    
  
“Oh, really now?” Blaise said, doubt lacing his voice. “If anyone would have won, it would have been today.”   
  
Draco sneered. “She’s got the last clue.” The creaking noise made it’s second debut. Draco turned his head around, his eyes narrowed for any movement. He saw something, but he put it under as a trick of the light.  _Impossible…_  
Hermione didn’t have time to think. She looked at the two figures talking not even 10 feet in front of her. The moonlight flooded the ship. She took a breath, as she closed the door. There was no way that she was going back into the hold. They would go in there first thing if they expected anything! She had to think of a place that they would never dare to look for her.   
  
All of her plans were shot when she saw _him_  standing at the railing. The fear began eating at her bones. He had killed her once, and she was positive that he would do it again, if he had the chance. This couldn’t have been more difficult.   
  
Hermione cursed McGonagall under her breath. She was probably enjoying her predicament immensely. But as soon as that thought crossed her mind, she threw it overboard.  _McGonagall wouldn’t have sent me here if there was nothing that I needed from this wretched ship in order to finish this game sooner._ With that thought, Hermione went out to search for a hiding spot; A place that he would never look for her. A headquarters, per se, from where she could sow fear into his very being.   
  
Then, all the sudden, it hit her.   
  
It was  _perfect._  
At that moment, Hermione could have passed off for a brilliant Slytherin. With a smirk, she snuck off to her new residence.   
  
 _This is going to be a piece of cake!_  
She couldn’t have been more wrong….   
  


* * *

  
  
Blaise’s eyes went wide in the moonlight. “She, as in, Granger?”   
  
“You know what, Blaise?” Draco thought, quite irritated because he had been interrupted while thinking up of his master plan, “Sometimes I need what only you can provide.”   
  
“And that is..?” Blaise asked, not liking the look in his friend’s eyes.   
  
“Your absence.”   
  
“Ouch,” Blaise mused, a grin forming on his lips. “Whatever it is that‘s eating you must be suffering horribly.”   
  
“Au contraire,” Draco said in his impeccable French, “I am delicious, nutritious, and charming.” With a grin, Draco waved him away. “I have a plan to create, and you are hindering my ability to do so.”   
  
Blaise rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I’ll be back later. I’ll just go get some something to drink, then.”   
  
Draco listened as his friend’s whistling faded away. Blaise was the only person that Draco could even consider for the role of ‘friend,’ ever since Theodore Nott, more commonly known to Draco as ‘Theo’, had been sent to St. Mungo’s for spell damage. They said to give half a year for him to regain his memory and bodily functions. From the war to now, 5 months had passed.  _He should be back and well by the time that this cursed game is over!_  
Draco sighed and pushed away from the railing. He took one last look at the sky, which reflected its glittering stars in his silver eyes. He wrenched his eyes from the sight. It’s all fake. He thought, jaded.  _Nothing can be that beautiful._  He closed his eyes for several moments, and then opened them. The stars had fled from their silvery depths. He took a deep breath. _Beauty doesn’t become me._    
  
With that thought, he headed to his room, pushed the door open, and collaped on the bed, to get his much needed sleep. He shot a spell at the candle on his nightstand, causing it to flair to life.   
  
Hermione was pulling, pushing, and prodding at all of his thoughts. He pushed thoughts of the Mudblood away. He just needed to sleep.   
  
Hopefully, tonight, his dreams wouldn’t be riddled with nightmares. Carefully, he nonverbally placed an Imperputable charm around his quarters, like he had done every night that he had stayed here. It was like a silencing spell, but for a specified area, not a person.   
  
His screams liked to echo off the walls.   
  
It would do no good, for his crew to think that he, Draco Malfoy, was weak.   
  
The only thing that he didn’t know, was that karma was out to get him. Good thing that he didn’t believe in karma. It defied every rule of the fundamentals of Malfoy’s.   
  
No. 1 Rule of the Honor of Carrying the Malfoy Name: Know not thy Fear.   
  
And that’s exactly what Draco did. He had no idea what it was. Another thing he didn’t know, was that if he hadn’t been a Malfoy, he would have probably been in Gryffindor.   
  
But Draco Malfoy, was too cunning to get sorted into that mush-pot of daisies that got their exercise by pushing their luck, and were constantly blurring the line between bravery and stupidity.   
  
He was jaded,  _and_  he was Slytherin. He could do  _no_ wrong. The candle light flickered over his relaxing features. With a sigh, his silver eyes closed, shutting out the world, and opened the door to the nightmares that often graced him with their presence. It was rotten luck, that he didn’t check for the monsters that had hidden under his bed. Draco didn’t know, but at that moment, he should have been afraid… _very_  afraid.   
  
He he  _no_ idea....


	13. Rendezvous

There are two different types of fear. Not three, not eight, but simply two. The first kind of fear is the kind that most superheroes, or people facing angry bosses are used to. It is the fleeting, intense sort of feeling that comes over one when one’s life flashes before their eyes. Whenever they face that type of fear, it envelopes them, then washes over. It goes away quickly, though, because either they will die in that moment, or they will not.   
  
The second kind of fear is far more lethal and far more common. It is the lingering type of fear. This fear eats away slowly at the insides, until everything one trusts and everything one cherishes and everything that one believes in becomes riddled with uncertainty. Their mind and conciseness is slowly eaten until the individual become more savage, and more primal. One will begin to lose  _faith_ , ultimately.   
  
While the first kind of fear may strike quickly and prove more deadly . . . the second kind of fear kills slowly, and before one knows it , they become lifeless shell, unsure and uncertain and unable to separate truth from lies.   
  
That latter, Hermione had decided, was the kind that she was going to use on Draco Malfoy.   
  
She was going to haunt his mind, haunt his being, haunt his surroundings, and inevitably, make him sorry for killing her. She would be a ghost, ever lingering in the corner of his mind, in his peripheral vision. She would come to him in his dreams, invade his thoughts, and conquer his being.   
  
Hermione closed her eyes as the door to the room in which she was hiding, opened quietly. She didn’t dare breathe, it would give her away, and that was the last thing that she wanted. She felt the ripples of a spell surround the room, then cease to move. Hermione’s brown crinkled at the odd feeling.  _A silencing spell? How odd._  The footsteps moved straight to her hiding spot. Hermione’s nerves were making her hands tremble. She berated them silently, mentally. She couldn’t be scared, not now. His worn black boots were right in front of her face. She definitely didn’t want to breathe in now…   
  
Hermione did her best not to scream when his body landed on the mattress above her head. The wood that the mattress was laid upon, slightly curved under his weight. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.  _The git didn’t even shower!_  The boots were placed at the end of the bed, and far away from her face.   
  
Hermione knew she was being hypocritical. She knew, that when being a pirate, that you can’t bathe every day. It simply wasn’t done. There wasn’t enough clean water to wash. Hermione simply settled for staying near islands so that they could bathe at least once a week. A  _‘Scourfigy’_ charm never went amiss, but it just wasn’t as satisfying as really touching the water, and feeling it pebble down one’s skin.   
  
 _But he’s a MALFOY._  Hermione reasoned.  _Isn’t there a rule against his not bathing, or something?_  She lay still under the bed, waiting for his breath to even out. She had reasoned this as the best place to get under his skin. He would never look for her there, under his bed. He would think she was in the hold, or in the crow’s nest. He would never dream that she was where she was at that moment. A candle flickered to life in the darkness. Hermione’s brow furrowed. _Is he afraid of the dark or something?_  She wasn’t about to voice her thoughts. That would be stupid!   
  
Hermione frowned in the darkness, regretting the fact that she hadn’t had time to inspect his room before running in and diving under his bed. The only thing that assaulted her was the scent in the room. It was subtle, an expensive smell. At first she thought that it was perfume, but then she threw the thought away.  _Even Malfoy, as conceited as he was, wouldn’t put on perfume every day._  Hermione mused. She went back to trying to place what the smell was… It was slightly woodsy. Pine, perhaps? maybe?   
  
Two hours later, Hermione’s muscles were screaming in pain. She hadn’t moved an inch since Malfoy had walked into the room. She couldn’t afford to. She made sure that no noise was coming from the bed, and that what she could hear of his breathing was slow and easy. She sighed, when she realized it was. She slithered out from under the bed, and stood up, doing her best not to let out a groan as her muscles voiced their fury. Slowly, and surely, she felt the blood rushing back into her oxygen deprived muscles.   
  
She quietly tip-toed to his desk, not taking a moment to glance at the boy sleeping soundly on the bed. Why should she? She knew that he was asleep. His steady breathing filled the room.   
  
Several tippy-toes later, she reached his desk. Her eyes flew open as she saw every single clue laying out on his desk. Every one but her own. Her eyes opened even wider when she saw the map that was on his desk.   
  
It was identical to hers! The same, marauderish like map was laying there., innocently, on the table. Hermione took a moment to locate her own ship, and suppressed a gasp.  _What is it doing harbored so close to the kingdom?_  She asked herself incredulously. She rubbed her eyes, to make sure that she wasn’t sleeping. She stopped rubbing and looked back down.   
  
 _Nope. Still there._  Hermione shook her head. What is Susan thinking! She wondered, indignantly.  _Perhaps placing Susan as captain wasn’t a great decision, after all._  Hermione mused. Her eyes roved over the map in the candle-lit darkness. The other thing that she saw, nearly made her faint.   
  
Siramadra was gone, clear off the map! Hermione narrowed her eyes, making sure she wasn’t seeing things. She bit her lip, and touched the map. All of the sudden, as if someone where writing on the parchment, words appeared. They read:   
  
 _She will only be found, by those who have seen her shores._    
  
Hermione scrunched her eyes, and made a quick mental picture of her map, when she had seen  _Siramadra_. She didn’t want to forget where it was. It was far too important, and crucial to her plan. She sighed quietly, not to wake up the other individual in the room. Her brows furrowed, when she picked up a little black notebook that graced the table.   
  
It seemed that nothing in his cabin would cease to amaze her. In Hermione’s hands was the best piece of payback in all time. It was  _The Journal of Draco Malfoy._  Hermione went to flip open the page, but bit back her disappointment when the book didn’t open.  _Of course Malfoy would have a protective spell on it!_  Hermione thought, irritated, and slightly stupid. He would never leave something like that unprotected.   
  
Hermione put the book back, and went to pursue another book, this one red, when the last thing that she could imagine happened.   
  
A scream split the air.   
  
Suddenly, the world crashed around Hermione’s head, and she felt a jerk near her navel. She promptly passed out.   
  


* * *

  
Harry crept from the hallway, and stepped behind a column. Life has ceased moving. It was four in the morning; silence seeped from the walls. The moonlight touched the courtyard softly, with the fingers of a skilled, gentle lover. The rose statue in the middle of the courtyard glowed with the attention.   
  
Harry barely took in the sight as he discarded his invisibility cloak, and hid it in a corner. He made sure to mark the spot, so that he could come back for it. He steeped into the courtyard, eyeing the man he was meeting with.   
  
He was desperate, he knew it. However, he also knew that he would never admit it. Harry couldn’t do what they wanted to. He was trapped in a corner, and there was no way out. Harry didn’t know how to get out of it. He was, in modern words, toast. Burnt, buttered, and served.   
  
 _If only Hermione were here._  Of course he thought that! He didn’t exactly want to be toast. She’d save him.   
  
That thought has crossed his mind hundreds of times in the past couple days. He knew that she would have found a solution right now. She was smart, clever, and would figure it out.  _Yeah, like, hide the butter, and let you get toasted anyways?_  A snide voice said in his head. Harry narrowed his eyes.  _No. Hermione is noble, loyal, honest, and very beauti-_  
“Do you want me to wait all day?” The man's voice sounded in the courtyard, cold, and unyielding. It was the voice of a man who could kill with a glance; the voice of a man who had, in fact, ended many lives. It was his voice.   
  
Harry stepped forward rigidly to the man, who had a white wig on his head. The man cocked an eyebrow at Harry, and made a mock-bow. “Your highness.”   
  
“Your sum, as ordered, for your service.” Harry said, coldly, and dropped the pouch into the mans hand. A metallic jingling sound came from the bag, as the five-hundred gold pieces settled into new positions.   
  
“You are sure you want to go through with this?” The man asked, snidely, weighing the sack with his hand. After seeing that it was of sufficient weight, he tucked it into his black cloak.   
  
“You will say nothing, as you promised,” Harry said. It was not a question. It was a demand.   
  
“I will not say, nor tell, nor write to anyone about our agreement. You have an extra 20 days, then 5 until the wedding.”   
  
“But, you said-”   
  
“I told you I would give you more time,” the wigged man said cleverly, “It was you who failed to specify how much time you wanted.”   
  
With that statement, the head judge of the Judicial Room was gone, leaving Harry to his thoughts, buzzing angrily in him mind.   
  
 _Voldemort should have worn a wig. Then, he probably could have scared the hell out of me._  
Harry waited until he heard the extra’s footsteps fade into darkness. Once he was sure that he was alone, he pulled out an old book that he had found in the library from his pack, that he was carrying on his back. He looked at the title, praying that it would do what he asked of it.   
  
 _Apparation of Materialization_    
  
He had one person in mind.   
  


* * *

  
Hermione felt as if her soul had been jerked from her navel- almost as if she was on a portkey, except somehow, she  _knew_  that her body wasn’t there with her. It was probably collapsed on the floor by Draco’s desk.   
  
Hermione cursed silently to herself as her soul flashed through time. _How could I have been so careless?_ Hermione knew that it really wasn’t her fault, and that she really couldn’t have expected for her soul to be so unceremoniously jerked from her body. _But still!_    
  
All of the sudden, everything was still. Hermione opened her eyes, as well as a ghostly like apparition could open their eyes, and drank in her surroundings.  _So maybe I’m_ not _dead._    
  
She looked at the beautiful courtyard that surrounded her, the moonlight dancing on the vines that crept up the large stone walls… A statue, by which she was standing, bathed in the moonlight. Hermione smiled wistfully. For once, she felt slightly at peace.  _I guess I can put that away to the fact that I’m not in my body._  
“Hermione?”   
  
The familiar voice jerked her out of her reverie. She whirled around to look, excepting anything.   
  
Her voice cracked. “Harry?”   
  


* * *

  
  
A lone figure stood by a window, tying a not to a nantchuket that she had stolen from the village. It was dark outside; her face was only barely illuminated by the moon that hung high in the sky.   
  
Susan Bones had no idea what she was doing. Fraternizing with the Slytherins was impeccably stupid. This, she knew. Through all the stereotyping at Hogwarts, somehow, ’These belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal, those patient Hufflepuffs are true, and unafraid of toil’ meant ‘These Belong in Hufflepuff, where they are stupid and dimwitted, those patient Hufflepuffs are true…. -ly retarded and pigheaded.’   
  
Or so went the new sorting hat song that the Slytherins had made up. Truly and honestly, there were no real famous Hufflepuffs, and those who got fame…   
  
Cedric Diggory: death   
The Fat Friar: hung   
  
And that was about it.   
  
Susan felt helpless in her predicament. Was it impossible, for a Hufflepuff to be remembered? Did it even matter in this game? Was she still considered a Hufflepuff?   
  
Did it hurt, that she wanted to be remembered, and not forgotten?   
  
Susan cursed under her breath.  _Someone has to change this stupid Hufflepuff precedent. We can be great! We can be remembered! And we can fraternize with Slytherins, blast it!_  
With an impatient gesture, she looped the knot tightly too quickly, causing the nantchuket to squeal. Susan’s frustration abated immediately. She loosened the knot, restraining her anger, and keeping it from her work.   
  
She gently let the creature out the window, and watched it as far as the moonlight would allow.   
  
Susan walked back into her cabin, and sat down on her cot, head in her hands.   
  
It only really then occurred to her.   
  
 _What it Merlin’s name am I doing?_    
  
Ah. The downfall of the Hufflepuff name: _doubt._    
  
The realization shook her to the core. She couldn’t doubt her decision; she needed to be filled with a righteous anger. This much, she knew she could do.   
  
Quickly she washed herself, and got into bed, pulling up the covers to her shoulders. In moments, she was asleep.   
  
And as they had been since the Battle on the Island….   
  
Her dreams were of him.   
  


* * *

  
Ron couldn’t sleep. Pansy’s accusing face kept haunting his dreams. He didn’t know what to do. He had been tossing in bed, moving from one position to the other, never getting comfortable. Just when he’d be almost asleep, a noise would sound, or a whisper would penetrate the silence.   
  
He felt strange, as if something was going on that shouldn’t be going on. Some sort of forbidden magic. Ron pushed away the covers, and stepped out of his bed. Groggily, he reached for the water basin on his nightstand that splashed some of the cold water onto his face. After toweling his face dry, Ron threw on the robe that was hanging by his bed. Normally, he slept near the barracks with the rest of the extra’s, but today, after seeking some ‘company,’ he stayed in the castle.   
  
He was angry. He was tired of being known as the side-kick, or ‘Harry Potter’s Best friend.’   
  
He knew what he had to do. He was going to win this game. And he wouldn’t let Harry get in the way. He’d kill him if he had too.   
  
Ron’s face twisted into a sneer. With a single thought, he smirked.   
  
 _Long live the king._    
  
Unlike Harry, Ron could walk around the castle at any given hour at any given time of any given day, in plain sight. He was a General. Something could come up in the middle of night that required his assistance. Sure, Ron knew he was taking advantage of the situation, but was he, really?   
  
Ron stepped out into the hallway, and shut his door quietly behind him. His feet almost didn’t make a sound as they padded along the stone floor. Sneaking around with Harry Potter ‘after hours’ at school had to pay off somehow. Ron turned a corner, and almost collapsed onto the ground from the dark atmosphere that hit him like a wall.   
  
He gasped for air, and pulled out his wand from his robe pocket. After encasing himself in an atmospheric repellant bubble, he walked back around the corner, still feeling the air prodding and poking at his shield. Something was drastically off. He  _knew_  he had felt something uneasy when he woke up.   
  
Ron stole through the hallways, following the dark feeling on impulse. The castle suddenly became a maze- down some hallways, the feeling wasn’t so dark, so lethal… Ron went the ways that it was strong, and potent.   
  
The moon shone through the windows, duly illuminating the castle walls, and rug decorations that clung to the walls. He kept going and going, the feeling pressing stronger, and stronger…   
  
Then suddenly, it stopped.   
  
Ron’s red eyebrow flew up in confusion. He walked backwards, feeling where the atmosphere had been strongest… and…   
  
Nothing.   
  
Ron stomped in frustration. He had been  _so close!_  His frustrated eyes glanced around, to pass by the window… then back through the panes.   
  
What he saw was something that should have made him angry.   
  
No,…   
  
It made him  _furious._    
  


* * *

  
Blaise was confused.   
  
Not just plain old 'I just lost my cat' confused. But 'I just left the bathroom, so where the hell are my pants?' confused.  
  
He thought that he could control his emotions! And now.. Now, he wasn’t quiet so sure. Every time he tried to bring Hermione up into his mind, he got her eyes.. And that was it. Slowly, he would watch them transform into a darker, richer shade of brown from the honey they had been moments before.   
  
Susan Bones was becoming a bit of an emotional problem.   
  
He got a letter from her every night, when the clock should have chimed three in the morning, had there been a clock, which… well, on that ship, there wasn’t. Except for in the assembly quarters, and it had been silenced. No one liked to be woken in the middle of the night by a chiming bell.   
  
He had tried, inconspicuously to get away from Draco, so that he could go and wait for his letter. Everyday, he reported to her, and every day, she wrote him a small letter. Soon, the letters had evolved into a little more than a report. It started out with him asking her how her day was. Blast it, he didn’t know  _why_  he did it, he just did.   
  
Hence the reason for his confusion.   
  
Whenever he was with Hermione, he felt in control of himself. Everything was black and white, each decision a moment in pinpoint clarity, defined by Hermione’s will. With Susan, he forgot his control. He felt giddy when waiting for a letter, got an odd feeling in his stomach right before he opened them, and then holding his breath while he read them.   
  
In laymen’s terms, Blaise Zabini was turning into a cuddly teddy bear.  _How pleasant,_  Blaise thought cynically.   
  
He roved his hands over his face, closing his eyes to the unmoving stars above him. His ebony skin blended in so well with the ship, that he had become just another shadow, a stain, in the wood of the vessel.   
  
He didn’t understand why he felt the way he did.  _Was this how my aunt felt when she remarried, and remarried, and remarried…_ He wondered, if ‘fickleness’ was an inborn gene.  _Then again,_ he conceded,  _it_ _could be a mutation from all the pureblood marriage mania._  
He had never asked to become what he had become. He could only question, and wonder, if he was of his own making, or of his parents? Even though he already knew the answer, he didn’t want to acknowledge it.   
  
If he was of his own making, this… situation.. With Susan could last for a while longer. If not, he needed to end it immediately.   
  
Only he knew what he would have to write in reply to the letter that he would receive soon.   
  
Nervous and apprehensive, Blaise sat up quickly, eyes scanning the horizon, and he did the only thing he could do:  
  
He waited.  
  


* * *

  
Hermione watched him rake his hands nervously through his already messy hair. She took a moment to look at his disheveled appearance. The dark purple crescents under her friends tired green eyes told her that he hadn’t slept well in a while. “Where am I, Harry?” Hermione asked, always curious.   
  
Harry sat down by the side of the sculpture. “You’re in Fliadopia.”   
  
Hermione’s eyes went wide. “WHAT?!?”   
  
“SSSHHH!” Harry shushed loudly. “Do you want the who world to hear?” he whispered.   
  
Hermione frowned. “Do you realize, Harry, that you have detached my soul from by body?” She was livid- her ghost brown eyes a fierce brown. She almost looked whole, if it wasn’t for she was slightly transparent.  
  
“Well, I kinda did…”   
  
“And yet you  _still_  brought me here, knowing that you could have possibly killed me?”   
  
Harry shook his head desperately, his eyes wide. “No! No, I didn’t know that! I was just following this old spell book. Speaking of which, I only have about 6 more minutes with you, and I really need your help.”   
  
Hermione looked at the candle that was lit, resting its base on a petal of the sculpture. Hermione could dimly make out the minute marks on the candle. It was almost halfway gone. “Alright,” she sighed. “You better make it quick though, your time is burning out.”   
  
Harry smiled his crooked smile, a swell of joy flowering inside of him.  _She’s not mad at me!_  “Well, you see, the extras here are trying to make me get married-”   
  
“What?” Hermione asked, in shock. She really could take many more surprises.   
  
“Yeah. To Cho…. -”   
  
“Well, that’s not so bad-”   
  
“No. It really  _is_ that bad.” Harry sighed. He had so little time, and so much that he wanted to say to her. “the fact is, is that they want me to follow tradition, and marry someone. They’re getting restless. It makes me wonder whether they can rebel against me, since they  _are_ extras , after all. But really, I can’t get out of it at all! I just bribed the head man to postpone the decision, until all the drama has died down.”   
  
“What drama?” Hermione asked. She had so many questions…   
  
“Well, Susan Bones sent a messenger telling us that  _Malfoy_ ,” he gritted his teeth, pausing for a moment to calm himself, “had killed you.”   
  
Hermione grimaced. “Yeah. It wasn’t pretty.”   
  
Harry’s eyes went alight with curiosity, but he really couldn’t ask the questions that he wanted answers to. He just knew what he  _needed_  to ask. And that’s what he would ask. “As much as I’d like to hear about that, I really need to get out of my present situation. I am getting married to Cho Chang in 25 days, and I need a way not to do that.”   
  
Hermione quickly began making plans. If she was going to scare the heck out of Malfoy, she needed at the very  _least_ 15 days, then she’d have about 10 days to spare, to get to the wedding, and then…   
  
“Hermione..” Harry began anxiously. “There’s only a minute left on the candle.”   
  
Hermione grinned at him. “I’ve got a plan.”   
  
“That fast?” Harry asked in relief. _I knew I could count on her._    
  
“Yeah.” Her eyes were shining with excitement.   
  
“And?”   
  
“I’m not going to tell you.” Hermione stated with a grin.   
  
“WHAT?”   
  
“SSHH… Or do you want to the whole world to hear you?” Hermione mocked playfully.   
  
“But why can’t you tell me?” Harry asked. He needed to know.   
  
“Because,” Hermione answered, starting to fade away, “If anyone asks you, you can just tell them that you don’t know.”   
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Hermione….”   
  
She simply smirked at him. “I’ll see you soon Harry!”   
  
He watched helplessly as she faded away, grin still on her face. Moments later, he was starting at empty space. He sighed as the candle burnt out, the glowing light dead and gone. He got up to leave, when a six sense kicked in. Someone was in the yard with him, he could hear their breathing, their footsteps stepping closer to him.   
  
Harry turned around, shocked to see who it was.   
  
“So tell me,  _your majesty_ , how long have you been rendezvousing with  _our friend_?”   
  
Harry whirled around, jerked out of his reverie, looking at the person who had spoken. His eyes went wide, and his mouth fell to the ground.  _Oh, Merlin's... merlin's!_ He couldn't think of a way to finish the thought.  
  
 _Crap._


	14. Broken Impasse

“I… Ron, I…” Harry looked into his friend’s flat gaze, speechless. How was he going to explain this mess?   
  
“You don’t have to say a word, Harry. I get it now,” Ron answered, coldly. He should have  _known_. Harry, sneaking around at night all the time, Harry acting all distant lately, Harry not screaming in his sleep, Harry vehemently objecting to the idea to get married…   
  
There was only one reason Harry would act that way:  _Hermione._  
“So, why didn’t you tell me that you were seeing her? That you were,” a disgusted and almost sad expression flew through his face,  _“together_?” Ron asked, shooting the question like a barbed arrow laced with suspicious poison.   
  
“Listen, Ron. It’s not what you--”   
  
“Oh, I’m pretty sure that it’s exactly what I  _think_.” He was seeing Hermione. That was final. What he couldn’t believe was that he would actually do that to him! His best friend!  _Him_. He stole the glory, the fame, the girls,  _Hermione.._  There couldn’t possibly be anything else-   
  
Harry moved forward, to reach out reassuringly to his red-haired friend, to explain, when something sounded from his figure.   
  
If possible, Ron’s eyes went even colder.   
  
The unmistakable sound of coins sliding against each other with several clinks came from Harry’s cloak pocket.   
  
 _Oh sodding bananas!_  Harry cursed mentally. This was just his new type of luck. Ever since Voldemort died, well.. Harry’s luck had run out, leaving his with a little black rain cloud that just seemed to bloody pour cats and dogs on his spiffing sodding parade.  _How utterly brilliant._    
  
Silence followed the unwelcome, unbidden sound. Neither spoke; Just as Harry opened his mouth to tell Ron what the money was for, Ron held up a hand, silencing him, taking away Harry’s chance to tell him that it was just extra money had the extra wanted more. His unbelieving eyes were still locked on Harry’s pocket.   
  
Harry was terrified. He knew  _exactly_ what Ron was thinking. It was twisted,  _gross_ even--   
  
“You’re paying Hermione to be your whore?” Ron said, eyes shooting up at Harry’s, angry, cold, and merciless.   
  
“No, Ron, the money was for--”   
  
“I know what it was for.” It was a cold statement, one that allowed no argument. In that moment, Harry knew that it was all over. Their friendship had fallen apart through his stupid secretiveness.  _I should have told him!_  The thought came to him just a little too late.  _Sodding luck._    
  
“I can’t believe you would do something like this!” Ron said, anger edging his voice with a lethal venom.   
  
“Ron, would you just  _listen_ -”   
  
“No!” Ron yelled, voice echoing in the courtyard. Harry pulled out his wand and flicked it behind his back, casting an imperturbable charm in the courtyard, boxing them in a cube of silence. He could only hope he hadn’t acted too late.   
  
“Too long, I’ve listened to your lies! Too long you’ve been the deceiver. Too long you’ve gotten to be the hero, gotten to get the girls, gotten the attention. Too long you’ve been the savior of the world, the winner. And too sodding long have I been the sidekick. Too  _bloody_  long.” Ron seethed, spitting the words out like lava.   
  
Harry was shocked. He had never known that Ron felt this way. By all means, he’d give his friend the glory, the fame, in less than the time it took his firebolt to shoot off the ground. Which was bloody  _fast!_    
  
Harry shook his head sadly. “Looks like history is repeating itself, yet  _again_.”   
  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Ron spat, eyes cold and flat. He would have none of this. He was through.   
  
“It means, you’re acting the same way you did in the Tri-Wizard tournament, when you thought that I had cheated you out of the glory. I’ll ask you the same question that I asked you then: Do you think I asked for this? To be king, to be damned to the role of savior of the world since  _before_ I was born? My answer is the same as it was before.  _No._  I did  _not.”_    
  
Harry knew that the case was pointless, for history did, in fact, repeat itself. Ron wasn’t going to listen to him, in fact, he was pretty sure that Ron wasn’t listening at all. So, he decided to add some more for good measure. If he wasn’t listening, it wouldn’t hurt. “It’s not my fault I was born. You can blame my parents for that one.”   
  
His first attempt at humor ended in an epic fail, when Ron answered, “Your parents are dead, Harry. So, I suppose that the only person alive to blame would be  _you_.”   
  
“Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong… There’s always Malfoy.”   
  
The little spark of anything that Harry was depending on to show up in Ron’s eyes turned to be one of those no-shows that totally ruined the whole plan of the day. Harry was royally screwed at every angle imaginable. Argument, check. Thinking that his friend wasn’t listening when he in fact, was… check. Trying to crop up super lame jokes while said friend was angry, check.   
  
“You leave Malfoy out of it,” Ron said angrily. “He has  _nothing_  to do with this.”   
  
Harry sighed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know… I just… You won’t  _listen_  to me!”   
  
Ron cocked an eyebrow at his friend, shaking his head in disgust. “Then why waste your breath on Malfoy when you could be saying something important?”   
  
Harry realized that this was possibly the only chance that he was going to get to explain to him what the wretched money was for. “The money wasn’t to pay Hermione. That was her soul that you saw. I used an advanced spell,” Harry rushed on, seeing the disbelief etch itself further into Ron’s face, “to summon her to help me. I don’t want to get married to Cho. I just want to finish this stupid game so that--”   
  
“You and Hermione can have your happily ever after?” Ron spat.   
  
Yes, history did, in deed, repeat itself.   
  
He snorted. “I should have known.”   
  
“No!” Harry replied, exasperated. “It’s not like that--”   
  
“Screw you, Harry Potter.”   
  
“ _What_?” Harry looked at Ron aghast.  _No. Please, not now. Not when I need him the most.._  
“Maybe you should invest in some cutips Harry. I said,  _Screw you._  I’m not going to be part of another one of your little ‘I’m going to save the world’ plans! I’m going to win this game on my own,” Ron said, voice chilling, freezing to the bone. Long gone was the dunderhead. Apparently, Ron was far more articulate when he was angry. “Without your ‘luck’ and ‘help’. You better watch your back,  _your majesty_. I’m about to give backstabbing a whole knew definition.”   
  
He gave his ex-friend on last glare and turned his heel, stalking away. Where to, no one knew.   
  
Harry slumped against the statue, emotionally strained, physically tired, and sad. Devastated really. The only person who kept him sane had left the door.   
  
Hopefully, it would all blow over by the morning.   
  
Harry sighed.   
  
 _Hopefully._  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hermione wanted to scream.   
  
Her soul was yanking back into her body, like a powerful sucking vacuum, whirling, pinching, and prodding. She bit her lip as her conscious connected to her brain, keeping the scream right on the edge of the tumbling cliff of the pain.   
  
She slowly felt the pain of having a body returning. She breathed in deeply, the sense of smell flooding her nostrils.   
  
Her eyes opened, the odd feeling of having them back as a body organ encompassing her frantic brain. With a jolt, one that told her that she was fully connected to her body, she jerked upright, eyes glancing around in the candle lit darkness around her.   
  
 _Where am I?_  She thought, totally disoriented.   
  
Her eyes flew around the room, taking in the shoddy furnishing, the desk, the small little black book on the floor, the candle, almost burnt completely to the stub. Her hands, super sensitive, brushed the wooden floor beneath her.   
  
Her eyes stopped on the bed.   
  
The covers were jerking and twitching: someone was in the bed.   
  
“Father,  _no_ ….  _please, NO_!” A pain-laced scream echoed through the room, following the helpless, pleading, raspy, and all too male voice.   
  
But she didn’t care that it was a man. She had to help him, and now. She jerked off the floor, stumbling slightly, taking in the feeling of her recently re-acquired body. She lurched toward the bed, feeling a wave shift the ship.   
  
Her flailing hands fell onto the covers, grasping the soft, and surprisingly expensive feeling, covers. Her eyes flew to the figure on the bed, widening when she saw who it was.   
  
She jerk away from the bed, falling onto her behind, gasping as the flood of memories invaded her mind from a door that apparently opened moments too late.   
  
Suddenly, she remembered it all, her plan to scare  _him_ , the journal, the sorting…   
  
 _Malfoy._    
  
Hermione gasped, breath coming in pants, as if she had been running for a long time.   
  
Her eyes flew back to the bed, fear creeping into her body.   
  
“No.. _please_ …”   
  
Hermione edged away from the pained voice in the bed, and slithered to the wall. She edged up the wooden panels, and stood in the shadows, looking that the thrashing figure in the bed, pleading someone in his dreams to leave him be, to just  _stop._    
  
She stood stock still for an entire minute, watching him moan and groan in pain- screaming, whimpering. Her eyes flew to his wand by his bedside table.  _So that’s what the charm was for! She realized. He must have dreams like this all the time!_  
She watched with wide eyes, as the pale-haired boy’s dreams tortured him mercilessly.   
  
When he started crying, Hermione couldn’t just stand and watch. This was  _Malfoy_ for Merlin’s sake. He wasn’t supposed to cry! Of all things for him to do, this… she couldn’t watch this!   
  
Hermione took a bold step out of the shadows, grasping her wand in her right hand. This had to be stopped.   
  
 _Now._    
  
“Not that one… please, father….  _please_ \--” He screamed again, a pathetic, pleading,  _begging_  scream. Hermione was chilled to the bone. ‘Malfoys never beg.’ It was a fact. Never,  _never,_  did Malfoy’s beg. Least of all this particular Malfoy.   
  
Hermione reached his bed in less than three steps. Hesitantly at first, she reached out to touch him- her finger tips brushed his flailing hand; his scream wavered for just a moment.   
  
Encouraged by the waver, she put her wand on the table beside his, and boldly grasped his forearms, trying to pin his arms down to the bed; that would at the very least, reduce the thrashing.   
  
He whimpered slightly, “Let me go…  _please_..”   
  
Hermione shook her head, even though she knew he wasn’t awake to see it. He struggled free from her grasp, and screamed again. Hermione cursed underneath her breath- a sight that would have made any resident Hogwarter’s eyes fly open in disbelief. She tried once more to pin his arms down, but was unsuccessful.   
  
 _Merlin! He’s going to knock himself out!_    
  
She knew there was no alternative. She didn’t hate him  _that_  much- to watch him beg and plead his father in his dreams for mercy… She couldn’t do it. There was no pleasure in watching someone cry to their own  _parents_  for mercy.   
  
She climbed up on his bed and pinned his arms down and straddled him, forcing him to be still. He screamed louder than he ever had.   
  
“Calm down, Malfoy,” Hermione gritted, pressing down on his strong arms again, shoving him down. He still thrashed.   
  
Hermione was torn apart. She knew what she had to do, but she didn’t want to do it. It was that simple. He had torn her apart her  _entire_  life, and now wasn’t even a time that she should stop to make exceptions and be nice to  _him_ , of all people.   
  
Pride, or self?   
  
In the end, she chose to be herself. For a moment, she shed her Gryffindor pride, thus proving that she was a true Gryffindor. It was an oxymoron of character if there ever was one. For a moment, the prejudices didn’t exist. For that moment, she was just a girl, and he was just a boy. He became an exception.   
  
“It’ll be OK, Draco. It’ll be OK.” She brushed her fingers over his forehead, letting go of his forearms. He whimpered in his sleep, tears coursing down his face which was contorted with some sort of pain that she didn’t know.   
  
It reminded her frighteningly much of Harry and his dreams about Voldemort. She looked on the face with horror, not knowing the full extent to which Draco’s mind was being terrorized.   
  
For a moment, he stopped screaming. He just sobbed quietly. “Shh,” Hermione said softly, “It’ll be alright.”   
  
She ran her hands through his damp hair, letting her fingers knead his scalp. His sobs were subsiding. Hermione laid down beside him, keeping her fingers in his hair, muttering small nothings into his ear: anything to make him calm down.   
  
She did her best to wait until his sobs died completely, and the only sign that he had been crying just minutes before was his shaky breathing.   
  
Hermione sat up for a moment, and helped him turn over onto his back. She took her hands and lightly kneaded his back muscles, doing the same thing that her father had done to her before he had died as a casualty in the war. She used to find it very relaxing when she was on the receiving end.   
  
Her thoughts, however, were flying at a million miles per hour. Why would he be having such terrible nightmares that he couldn’t even tell anyone about them, that he was forced to keep them to himself?   
  
Instantly, Hermione realized that it wasn’t that he was forced to do it. It was Malfoy pride kicking in at the highest possible gear. Never show weakness: one of the greatest Malfoy mottos, among which were: never forget to gel your hair, never grovel, never beg, never speak to Mudbloods, never  _touch_  Mudbloods…   
  
Hermione sighed. It must have been a hard life, being a Pureblood, with all those rules and regulations as to who one could hang out with, speak to, touch, even love. Hermione felt a surge of pity for the boy.   
  
In that moment, she knew that she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t make him scared- not with his dreams being like this. She couldn’t constitute to make them worse: she couldn’t, wouldn’t subject herself to that.   
  
She smiled lightly as he sighed, finally letting peaceful sleep take over his body. Suddenly, it felt as if the whole world was resting on her shoulders. Too tired to get back under the bed, Hermione laid down, head resting on the mattress.  _This sure beats wooden floor,_  she thought, right before her eyes drifted close into a dream filled with a certain blonde-haired boy…   
  
And this time, she wasn’t punching his nose.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
_Susan,  
  
We really can’t   
  
We shouldn’t   
  
Oh for Merlin’s sake, Susan. I’ve never done this before. Fraternizing with Hufflepuffs isn’t something that I do on a regular basis, in fact, my Aunt would probably kill me if she-- _  
  
Blaise crumpled up the failed attempt at a rejection letter. He didn’t want to write it: but he knew he needed to. It was to save him  _and_  her. He knew that when this whole game was over, nothing, and everything would be the same. The boundaries were eternal, immortal, set for  _forever._ Nothing could change that. They would exist in the next generation, and the next, and the next, and even the one after that.   
  
Slytherins didn’t even _look_  at Hufflepuffs, unless it was for a quick release, or just to use them for a grander scheme. Even then, they didn’t put too much faith in them. Hufflepuffs were almost worse than Gryffindors: or so that was what his Aunt said.   
  
She had married a Hufflepuff once. Let’s just say that he didn’t turn out to well. Something about chickens, frosted flakes and a couple devious beluga whales, but that was another story completely.   
  
Susan, she was  _different_  somehow. He didn’t know why, or how… she just, well…  _was._  
He briefly remembered what he felt Hermione: it was nothing like this, this burning, constant need to be around her. His thoughts ran back to Susan’s laugh, her dark, entrancing, brown eyes. She  _was_ different. He just didn’t really have any way to prove it.   
  
He threw the paper into the restless waves (the seventh paper so far), and went back to the letter that he had gotten about an hour ago.   
  
 _Blaise,  
  
I miss you. Maybe you should die and ask to be recruited to my ship? It would make this so much easier, although I do love these notes. Just be careful not to get caught, alright?   
  
Missing you,   
  
Susan. _  
  
Blaise almost knew it by heart. There was nothing to write to her about Malfoy that she didn’t already know. His daily reports grew meager as the days dragged on. He picked up his quill, hesitating over the paper. Finally, the pen touched his last piece of paper.   
  
When done, he quickly rolled the letter and put in the special pouch of the small Nantucket. He gave the small creature some treats from the hold, and then watched as it flew away into the night without so much of a little nod goodbye.   
  
His mind reflected back to the words that were written on the paper, hoping that he hadn’t made a mistake. It had been short, simple, and, for a Slytherin, sweeter than ten year old licorice sweets:   
  
 _Susan,  
  
I miss you, too.   
  
Blaise _  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The morning filtered lightly through a porthole, conveniently smacking Hermione in the face with it’s bright incandescent rays.  _Another day on the Lioness_. She groaned, turning over, realizing that she was warm: something that didn’t happen often when she was on her ship. She snuggled closer to the heat, trying to will herself back into her dreams, when it moved.   
  
The heat  _moved_. Hermione’s eyes shot open, looking up to meet cold, confused grey eyes clashing with hers. Right in her stare, the confusion fled from his eyes, replaced by heat, hatred, and prejudice. He jumped out of the bed, grabbing his wand from the nightstand. “You!”   
  
"You!" Hermione leaped out of the bed, scrambling for her own wand, only to then realize where she had left it. She did her best to keep her eyes on him and looked through her peripheral vision and saw the worst: her wand was on his nightstand, where she had left it. She was definitely not on the  _Lioness._  
There was only one decision to make. With a feral cry, she leaped onto the bed, towards him. Her spontaneous assault made him take a step back, and then she was on the side of the bed with him. Her arm shot out, and grabbed her wand, and pointed it at him- he did so as well.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Draco asked, voice cold, and angry. She was in his bloody  _room!_  Invading his personal space. Did privacy mean anything to anyone anymore? If a Mudblood was allowed in his room, well… Who’s to say what else had been in here?   
  
“I got sorted here, you little maggot,” Hermione spat, not able to think up of a lie that would run smoothly in this situation. What was she supposed to say? ‘I wanted to check out your boat?’ Please, the last thing she wanted was to die by his hand… again.   
  
That thought really put her on the offensive. She was going to kill him this time, dreams be damned.   
  
Suddenly, his anger faded away, replaced by amusement. “You were sent here to scrub my floors? How fitting for a  _Mudblood.”_    
  
Hermione stepped closer, jutting her wand in his throat. “I told you not to call me that,” she seethed.   
  
Draco simply laughed, and hit her wand with his, twisting it away as if they were playing with swords. “You think that would stop me? You  _telling_ me to do something?” Harsh laughter spilled from his perfect pink lips. “ _Right._  I’m not the little third year that you punched, Granger. I’m a  _man_ ,” he said, eyes piercing hers. He took a step towards her, forcing her to take a step back. He kept walking forward, until her knees hit the edge of the bed. Hermione’s mouth opened in an ‘oh’ as she tried to regain her balance.   
  
Draco smirked, flourishing his wand, and tilting her chin up with it. “Contest ends here, love.”   
  
Hermione gathered her scattered brains, snarled and pushed him away, leaping onto the other side of the bed, putting the piece of furniture between them. It was a lot, asking a bed to be her protector, but right now, she needed everything that she could get. “I’m not your love,” she answered, wand held out, warily tracing his every move.   
  
Draco reached to the bed post, and pulled off his robe from the wooden post, and donned it. He took a sip of whatever was in the bottle on his nightstand, wand lazily pointed at her. What, did he think that she wouldn’t do anything? Hermione thought incredulously.  _He KILLED me!_  The thought reverberated furiously in her head. She couldn’t let him get away with that.  
  
Hermione cursed her sympathetic side, wishing that she had stayed under his bed to torment the dickens out of him! Unfortunately, it was a bit late for that. Her cover was blown because of her sodding  _sympathy._  Hermione cursed again, watching him wander around his quarters, relaxed- yet his wand was always pointed her way.   
  
Why was she the one on the defensive? She wondered. This was all wrong. “So, how were your dreams last night, Malfoy? Hermione asked snidely, feet firm on the floor. Instead of taking a stance of relaxation, she took a stance of power.   
  
His posture suddenly went rigid. He struggled to regain his previous confidence. “Peachy.”   
  
“That’s not the impression I got,” Hermione smirked, twirling her wand in between her fingers. Her eyes were sparkling with challenge.   
  
He turned to her, apple in one hand, wand in the other. “And what impression was that?” Draco asked, voice low and dangerous. Suddenly, this wasn’t fun and games anymore. She was on his turf, with information. He wouldn’t,  _couldn't,_  let her escape. Not this time.  
  
“Oh, no, no, Malfoy,” Hermione said with mock laughter, “If I told you, then what value would my knowledge be then? Knowledge is  _power_ , Malfoy, surely you of  _all_  people know that.”   
  
“Tell me,” he demanded, taking a step towards her.   
  
Hermione pointed her wand straighter, with an easy smirk on her lips. “One more step, Malfoy, and you’ll wish you were never born.”   
  
He pointed his at her, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “One more word that isn’t the answer to what I want to know, and you‘ll be begging me for mercy.”   
  
“I guess we’ve reached an impasse,” Hermione replied, wand held firm. “Because I’m not going to tell you what you want to know, and you’re going to take another step to find out. The question is, who’s going to send the hex first?”   
  
Draco remained frozen; it was his move. If he threw a hex at her- she’d throw one back and then they would be in a duel with an unpredictable outcome. They were both almost equally smart, equally devious, equally fast… Who knew? If he didn’t, he could take a step. She couldn’t do anything about it. She broke his ultimatum first.   
  
He narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, not liking his options. He had to think of a new one. “Tell me  _now_ , Granger.”   
  
Hermione laughed, keeping her eyes on him. “Remember what happened the last time you did that, Malfoy? You  _lost_ control and  _killed_  me. I do believe I have yet to return the favor.”   
  
He took another step forward. “I won’t give you the chance.” He could feel the anger bubbling under his skin, threatening to explode any minute. He didn’t understand why he would loose control so quickly around her. It was like trying to keep an alcoholic away from alcohol. His temper was temped by her. He could feel his control slipping away gradually. This situation wasn’t good. “Maybe I’ll just kill you again.”   
  
He watched, pleased, as a flicker of uncertainty passed her gaze. She was already one down. Two more chances to go. He could make that one chance, and all he had to do was flick his wand.   
  
Suddenly, as soon as the feeling had come in her eyes, it had gone, only to be replaced by smugness. Unease crept into his veins, stilling his anger.  
  
“Ah, but you can’t do that.” She sounded so sure of herself.   
  
“And why is that?” Draco asked, taking another step forward, their wand tips almost touching. In that moment, the sunlight came from the porthole and hit Draco from behind, making him glow.   
  
Hermione’s retort caught in her throat. For a moment, she was just another girl…  _in Draco Malfoy’s bedroom._  The information popped unbidden into the forefront of her mind. Her mouth went dry, as her eyes took in his appearance. He looked like an angel, eyes crystal, complexion perfect. His perfect lips were parted from just finishing his question. One eyebrow was raised in speculation, disappearing into his tousled blonde hair. It hadn’t gotten any lighter from his hours in the sun. His skin, on the other hand, had gotten slightly tanner, making him seem more healthy.   
  
He looked sinfully good, like a box of chocolates when a girl was on a diet. Hermione swallowed, and tried to focus. “Well?” His voice prompted, and then the sunlight was gone, turning the shadows onto his face again. He looked angry. Very angry, in fact.   
  
Didn’t change the fact that he looked like comfort food. “Because I have the information,” Hermione rasped, angry with herself. He was  _Malfoy_ , for Merlin’s sake! She pushed her treacherous thoughts away.   
  
“The key?” His sinful voice prompted again. His eyes bored into hers, almost urging her thoughts on.   
  
“You’ll have to kill me first,” Hermione said, voice raw. He was tormenting her. But..  _he can’t do that!_  Hermione thought desperately. She was _Hermione Granger_! He wasn’t supposed to affect her like this.   
  
“I have a couple more options,” Draco offered, a smirk on his lips. The anger fled in a moment. He knew what he had to do. He wasn’t a Malfoy for anything. He was going to intimidate her with his manliness that he boasted to Blaise so often about. All that bragging had to be good for _something_. And what else better than intimidating Hermione Granger? He couldn’t think of anything.   
  
Hermione gulped, wondering what he was talking about. “I’m not entertaining any other options,” she said quickly, her wand wavering a little bit.  
  
“Not even one?” He tapped her wand with his with each word.   
  
“No,” Hermione rasped, stepping back. She couldn’t blame this one on her hormones. She knew the feeling in herself- in fact, she knew it very well…   
  
“Well, that’s just too bad,” Draco said, stepping forward again. He gave her a wide grin, knowing from her expression that he had almost disarmed her. It was just too bloody  _easy._  That fact gave him a feeling of triumph, but it was accompanied by frustration. She was  _Hermione Granger_! She was supposed to  _not_ react. She was supposed to try to claw his eyes out or something.   
  
Then, right before his eyes, he saw the dazed girl transform. Her eyes narrowed with intensity, her mouth parted with anger- in fact, her entire stance tensed, as if she were a lioness ready to lunge. “Stop toying with me,  _pureblood_ ,” she spat. He almost felt offended with her taking his blood status and saying it in that tone. “I’m not bloody Parkinson.”   
  
His grin widened, happy that the old Granger was back. _Happy?_  He immediately struck the thought with a mental piece of lightning, as he struggled to find another word.  _Exhilarated._  Yes, that was a better word. He felt excitement flood in his veins: a fight was approaching. He liked the feeling. “Really? I didn’t notice.”   
  
“Didn’t you?” She asked, fire sparking from her very live brown eyes, and that’s when she did it. Draco barely had the time to react.   
  
She threw a hex. Draco leaped away with a mental  _Protego_. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. He wasn’t used to be taken unawares. He had just been thinking about her pretty lips…   
  
Hermione threw another nonverbal hex, which he deflected with an easy flick of his wand. “You know, Granger. This is going to get old in a few minutes,” He said casually, taking his apple from where he had left it earlier and took a bit, shooting a curse at her.   
  
Hermione blocked it with a slash and stepped forward, shooting another. Draco was a tad too late, and caught one of the many burning spells. Instantly, his robe burst up In flames. He threw it off, spouting some water at it, just fast enough to block another of Hermione’s furious hexes. With chagrin, he noticed, his shirt was burning too. If he didn’t get if off, it was going to scar him. He dropped his wand in haste, and pulled off his shirt, muscles rippling with the movement. His eyes flew to Hermione's. He saw a coldness in them that threatened to send shivers down his spine. His eyes traveled a bit south; what he saw chilled his roaring blood in an instant.   
  
Hermione was standing, feet firm, blocking the door. In her right hand, she held a musket, facing him. The click of it being cocked stopped the hexes that were threatening to bound off the walls. “Game over, Malfoy.” Hermione said, suddenly weary of the game they were playing. She was tired of getting played, tired of having her emotions puppetted on his strings, tired of this little duel. She was going to win; end of story.  
  
She had the knowledge, the power, everything. The bloody  _gun._  Draco narrowed his eyes on the shiny piece of machinery that was begging its holder to blast his brains into the next world.   
  
He took one last bit of the green apple, swallowed, and put the misshapen fruit onto his study desk. He didn‘t even glance at his wand. It would have been a fruitless attempt to get it: she would shoot him before it could happen. He deliberated a second more, and took a step towards her. She was going to kill him, he had no doubt. He could do whatever he wanted now, in these last moments on this ship. Turnabout was fair play, and he had to admit, she played well.  _Very_  well.   
  
“One more step, Malfoy, and your brains are saying goodbye.” Hermione kept her eyes on his face, even though they were begging, pleading with her to look south. Her peripheral vision was going crazy. She was in a bedroom, with a half-naked man. It was  _scandalous_. The odd thing was, that she had seen Ron without a shirt, even Harry… But  _Malfoy._  Had she envisioned this scenario in her mind, she would have felt a wave of nausea and protest flooding her body at the invasion of her little perfect bubble. Yeah.. Definitely wasn’t happening.   
  
“You‘re going to pull the trigger anyways, so what does it matter if I take another little step or not?” He said, striding towards her, until the cold barrel the gun pressed right above his beating heart, on his bare skin.   
  
In the blink of an eye, all that filled her vision was Malfoy. In that moment, he was so purely Malfoy, that she didn’t know what to do with herself, or with him.   
  
He kept walking, feeling the pressure of the gun on his chest. He backed her straight into the wall, ignoring her gasp of surprise as her back hit the wooden panels. He met her eyes straight on: if she was going to kill him, he wanted to be looking in her eyes when he did. He was going to make sure that she knew he was going to come back to make her wish she hadn’t pulled the trigger.   
  
Hermione went wide eyed as her back hit the wall. _Pull the trigger!_  Her brain screamed at her. For a moment, her finger squeezed, but at the last second, she stopped. She couldn’t do it. He was… she just couldn’t. She kept it right over his heart though, feeling each beat of life that transferred through the metal.  He leaned forward, putting his hands on the wooden panels behind her, on either side of her face, trapping her in the cage of his arms.  
  
“Do it, Granger.”   
  
His voice was soft, sinful, challenging. His cold eyes bored into her soul, trying to learn her secrets. His face was scant inches from hers, close but not touching. Hermione’s breathing got ragged, lips parting; kudos of some sort of hormone that she was going to obliterate later. Her eyes lingered on his complexion, realizing for the first time that he was so  _perfect._  His colors all fit, his eyes were the perfect shade of grey, nose straight and aristocratic, matching his personality. Her eyes fell to his lips, his perfect, plush, pink, as tempting as chocolate lips…   
  
He could see the individual golden flecks that were catching the last bits of sunrise from his window. He instantly saw that they were too big for her face: They were open wide with indecision. He could see the freckles that dusted her prim, button nose, which was too small for her face. He kept gazing into her wide eyes, until he saw them droop, once again, as they had the last time, to his lips.   
  
He waited a moment, for her to look back up at him the way that expected her too: with haughty pride, disgust, anger, indignation. He expected her to push him away, to call him a ‘foul, loathsome, little cockroach’, or something along those lines. She never looked back up. His eyes lowered to her lips, noticing that the were too plush for her face.. She was the perfect picture of imperfection.   
  
He wanted to be in the picture.   
  
“Granger…” He rasped, a forbidden heat flooding through his body. He couldn’t control himself very longer. He should be repulsed. To his utter shock, he found that he wasn’t.   
  
“Malfoy…” Hermione answered, eyes flicking back to his eyes, where he caught her puzzled, wanting, lusting gaze.   
  
“Then, there’s this option,” he murmured, lowering his head to hers, forgetting the gun, forgetting he was above her, forgetting that she was nothing but a dirty, rotten, little Mudblood….   
  
Hermione arched up, gun still pointing at his heart to meet him. Just as their lips were scant millimeters away, breath mingling, a bright light shone from behind Draco accompanied with the loud sound of a door banging open.   
  
“Granger?” The questioning tone was answered with the coldest sound that would haunt them for the rest of the game: A gunshot.   
  
Hermione watched with horror, as Draco’s hot gaze turned cold with fury. He staggered back; blood was seeping from a hole in his chest.  “Well played, Mudblood.”   
  
His compliment did nothing but insult her in the worst way. Hermione watched, the heat fleeing from her body, as he reared away from her, standing on his own. He wasn’t about to fall all over her when he was dying. He reached out, cruelness filling his gaze, and let his fingers touch the faint ‘X’ shaped scar that was on her cheek. “Watch your back, because the next time you see my face, it’ll be the last time you ever will.”   
  
And with a flash of blue light, he disappeared.   
  
The two figures in the room were shocked. They both looked at the place where the Prince of Slytherin had just been standing.   
  
One was holding a smoking musket, the other was holding one that was cold, unused.   
  
Hermione’s hand went up to cover her mouth, horrified at what happened. Her musket fell from her shaking hand, and clattered onto the floor. Her eyes flew to the person into the doorway.   
  
 _What had she done?_


	15. Novelty

“Well, if it isn’t little  _Mudblood_ Granger --”   
  
“ _Shut up_.” Hermione slid down the wooden panels of Draco’s quarters, and hugged her knees. There was a bloodstain on the floor, her unused pistol clattered beside it. She closed her eyes.   
  
“Tsk. Tsk, Granger. You should  really learn your manners," Pasny smirked, tucking her still smoking musket into her belt. The musket that had just shot Draco Malfoy in the back.  
  
Hermione’s eyes flew up, a rage sparking in them like she had never felt before. “Shut up, Parkinson, or I’ll shut your mouth for you, since you obviously seem incapable of doing it yourself!”   
  
Pansy held out her wand, pointing it right at Hermione. “You overstep yourself, half-breed.”   
  
Hermione picked up her wand and pointed it at Pansy, “I don’t want to fight you right now, Parkinson. So if you’ll just leave me alone--”   
  
“Oh, that’s too bad. I was just in the mood for a quick fight,” Pansy returned.   
  
Hermione didn’t know when, but sometime along the way, Pansy had grown a backbone. Then it hit her- “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”   
  
Pansy’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “I convinced Severus to let me back in.”   
  
Hermione’s brow lifted. “What?”   
  
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Really, for the smartest girl in school, you really are so incredibly  _daft_.”   
  
“Does Professor McGonagall know you’re here?”   
  
“No, but I’m sure  _dear_  Severus will tell her sometime soon.” She smirked, her pretty red lips curling at the tips.   
  
Hermione mentally grimaced, not wanting to know what Pansy had done to convince, or persuade, *cough*  _seduce_  *cough* Snape to let her come back. “And you asked to get sorted here?”   
  
Pansy glared at Hermione, green eyes like slits. “Yes, so that I could be with Draco. And what do I find?  _You_ , trying to  _seduce_  him. It's almost laugable.”   
  
There was that word again. Hermione’s eyes went wide at her accusing tone. She stood up swiftly. “Then why aren't you laughing?" Hermione asked. "And for your information, I didn't seduce... I did nothing of the sort! We were fighting, and he thought that he was being all manly by cornering me--”   
  
“Lies.”   
  
Hermione’s voice went cold. “Why did you shoot him?”   
  
Pansy rolled her eyes. “I tried to shoot you. My heel caught the threshold, and when I saw you, well… It just didn’t--”   
  
“And you shot Draco instead?”   
  
Pansy’s eyes flared envy, greener than jealousy. “Don’t.  _Ever._  Say. His. Name. Again. You filthy Mudblood. You taint it by letting it roll of your dirty lips.”   
  
Hermione strode over, step by step towards Pansy. “Or what? You'll squeal at me?”   
  
“Pansy?” The disbelieving male voice stopped their quarrel for a moment. One that lasted a blink of an eyelash.   
  
Pansy didn’t move. “Go away, Blaise. My fight is with Granger.”   
  
“Hermione?” His voice went even more shocking.   
  
Hermione didn’t take her eyes off of Pansy. She had almost underestimated the flower girl one time, she wasn’t going to do it again.   
  
“Oh blast!” A red light filled the air, and Pansy fell to the floor, stunned. A dagger, that was presumably in her hand moments before clattered to the floor. Blaise stepped over her body and bent down to pick the intricate piece of metal up from the panels. “What are you doing here, Hermione?”   
  
If Pansy’s eyes could have gone wide, they would have. Why was  _Blaise,_   _her_  Blaise,  _Slytherin_  Blaise, calling the Mudblood by her first name? As if they were acquaintances, or something equally outrageous and despicable. Like _friends_. If she could have shuddered in revulsion and disgust, she would have.   
  
“I got sorted here,” Hermione replied, eyes glued on the lifeless Pansy.   
  
‘When?”   
  
Hermione’s eyes went up at the question. “I’ve been here for a few days,” she said.   
  
“A  _FEW DAYS_?” Blaise half-shouted.   
  
Hermione winced, “Yeah. I was hiding.”   
  
“From..?”   
  
Hermione threw him a glare. Who else would she be hiding from? Santa Clause? The tooth Faerie? No. But close. “Malfoy, maybe?”   
  
Blaise suddenly went shock still. “Speaking of Draco…” his eyes flew to the blood stain on the floor next to Hermione’s pistol. His eyes went wide, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Hermione… you didn’t--”   
  
“NO!” Hermione said quickly. “I..  _Never_. I… How could you think? ….I would never kill someone. It was--”   
  
“Pansy,” he finished for her. His eyes flew to the motionless figure on the floor. “I should have known. I heard something knock on the ship, and then I heard a gunshot just a moment later. She must have landed here and then shot, almost subsequently.”   
  
Hermione nodded, picking up her cold, unused pistol, and tucked it in her belt. “So what are we going to do with her?” She asked, prodding Pansy’s rigid body with her foot.   
  
Blaise looked down at the face that had frozen in it’s sneer of ultimate hatred. “We could always maroon her.”   
  
Hermione grinned lightly. “Well, that sounds like jolly fun.”   
  
Blaise shook his head. “I can’t believe that she would shoot  _him._  She basically worshipped the ground he walked on. I wonder…”   
  
“What?” Hermione asked, when Blaise trailed off. “Wonder what?”   
  
Blaise looked up at her, eyes black and unreadable, “I wonder if she’s already found someone else that she…”   
  
“Likes?” Hermione asked, her face the pure picture of disgust. “Is that even allowed?”   
  
Blaise shot her a look that made her instantly feel ashamed. She was being immature and untactful. The situation was serious. The thought that this was all a game vanished from all of their heads. It was all suddenly very real. Draco Malfoy just got murdered in from of Hermione’s own eyes, by none other than Pansy Parkinson, who was already supposed to be expelled from the game.   
  
Almost instantly, Hermione realized that the game was out of control. Everyone would cheat, steal, lie, connive, scheme, murder, seduce, and torture to get their way. The only other option was to die, and Hermione sure as the ‘bad place’ wasn’t going to do that any time soon. She had to win this game, and she only had two more lives to do that. She automatically deducted one-  _he_ was coming back to kill her.   
  
One chance was all she had to prove herself. One chance to be a novelty to the school. She simply  _couldn’t_ remain Hermione Granger, the know-it-all, or Hermione Granger, the bookworm, or the ‘oh, she’s with the chosen one,’ and all those dandy pseudonyms for her. She was going to win this bloody game. And she only had one chance to do it.   
  
Blaise looked down at Pansy, whose eyes had closed when he stunned her. “It was so out of character for her to do this.”   
  
Hermione nodded, suddenly exhausted. “I know. It’s almost as if she didn’t think a second before shooting him. Maybe it was from rage at the fact that she could feel it in her heart that she didn’t love him anymore. But the jealousy that she felt towards the way he--”   
  
Blaise shot a look at her in that very second that made a blush rise to her cheeks. “The way that he…?” He trailed off into a question. His eyes were alight with a disgusted curiosity.   
  
“I… well… he… we… you…”   
  
“The way that he…?” Blaise’s lip curled into an uneasy smirk as he watched the pink rise in Hermione’s face, the way that she flustered for words, and looked down at the floor as if she were ashamed.  _My, my. Draco seemed to have… put Hermione out of sorts. I wonder if…_  
  
“It doesn’t matter.” The thought came to Hermione quickly after she realized that she honestly didn’t want to tell Blaise that truth. And if that wasn’t an oxymoronic thought, she didn’t know what was. “He’s dead now, and It doesn’t matter. Anyway,” she hurried on, trying to get him off the subject,--   
  
He watched her lips move for a few moments, taking in her tense appearance. It took a moment to realize what change had taken over her, but when he  _did_ realize, he was shocked to the bone to find that it was a feeling that he had very well acquainted himself with in the past. Four letters, one syllable:   
  
 _Lust._    
  
Her eyes shone with it, her hair was mussed, her lips chapping from her licking them overly much while she was speaking. Almost as if she was thinking about being kissed, and kissed well. Why it shocked him so much, was that she, Hermione Granger, the bookworm, know-it-all, third of the golden trio, the little nest egg of the triad, could _lust_  after someone. It blew his mind. In fact, it almost blew his mind as much as the fact that she was lusting after  _Draco Malfoy._    
  
He finally zoned in to catch the last bit of her sentence:   
  
“And when she saw us in that compromising position which,” she added for his benefit, “was exactly what it was  _not,_  she shot him, because she has this jealousy factor. It’s almost like she knows that she can’t have him, but that fact even makes her madder, and she will never  _ever_  let anyone else have him. Thus her being able to shoot him. It’s quite simple really.” Hermione’s face shone with excitement of finally being able to figure something out. She looked expectantly at Blaise’s face, for something like ‘Oh, that was Brilliant’ spelled in sharpie on his face, but what she saw there… perplexed her.   
  
“You know, Hermione,” he started slowly, “If one person could feel all of that at the same time… they’d explode.”   
  
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  _Boys._  “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is 1) What are we doing with Pansy, 2) I’m going to get shot by someone else on this ship because I‘m Hermione Granger, and 3) Winning this game. Simple, effective, the end.” It was all very simple for her.   
  
“No one is going to shoot you,” Blaise reassured her as he started to wrap Pansy’s wrists with a coarse rope.   
  
Hermione looked away from him and went back to the map on Draco’s table, the one so like her own. She surveyed the map. There was no way that she could get into Fliadopia without playing her Hermione Granger, official member of the Golden Trio Card. “What do people know about me?” Hermione asked, eyes still scrutinizing the map.   
  
“Well,” Blaise started, putting Pansy in a corner and then enforcing several wards so that she couldn’t get out, “Susan told me that she told Potter that Draco killed you, so I guess he knows that you could be anywhere right now.--”   
  
“He’s seen me since then,” Hermione answered, puzzled.   
  
“What?” Blaise started, “You know what? Never mind, I’m not sure I want to know.”   
  
Hermione shrugged. “He used some spell to summon my image over to his courtyard. We talked briefly.” She was going to say more, than she shut her mouth. Regardless, Blaise was the best friend of her biggest enemy. She could trust him, but only to a certain extent. Suddenly, she felt a flood of panic rush through her body. She had promised Harry that she would help him. How could she have  _forgotten?_    
  
She pushed the panic away. She had to make a plan, she had to be _focused_. The only reason that a man ever failed was because he had a broken focus. She wasn’t going to fail. That word didn’t exist in her dictionary.   
  
“He saw me in a Pirate outfit. He must assume that I’m still out here,” Hermione said, half to herself, half to Blaise.   
  
She really didn’t know what else to do. Everyone thought that she had was rebutted by one fact: she had to be resorted as a lady, or at least a commoner of Fliadopia to get to Harry and his signet.   
  
She turned to Blaise spontaneously, who was opening the door for her. “Ladies first…. Um.. Hermione? What’s that look on your face for?”   
  
Hermione’s eyes went bright, with a little fear, but determination. It lit up her face like a candle. “Kill me, Blaise. Shoot me,” she said, looking him right in his dark eyes. His face was confused, scared even at the crazy, frantic look on her face. “Do it,” she demanded, pulling out her musket from her belt, the one that she hadn’t used yet. She walked over to him with sure steps and shut the door, enclosing them inside.   
  
“Right now.”   
  
And she put the musket in his hands. “Come on, Blaise,” she laughed. “I  _dare_  you.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco was falling through a vortex of colors, yet somehow, gravity didn’t seem to have a hold on him. His rage was flying as fast as his body though his veins. But before he could think about it, he felt a jerk behind his navel, as the rushing whirlpool of the violent shades of color stopped. For a moment, he was suspended in mid air, seemingly by his navel. Then, the world crashed around his ears. He didn’t even have time to shout out as the floor of the Great Hall came up to meet him.   
  
He jerked his body into a rolling motion, right before he collided with the floor. He slapped the surface with his hand, making sure he landed on all the right places. The crack that sounded when his hand hit the cold, stone, flooring of the Great Hall shuddered through his whole body.   
  
Then it was all still. The only thing that Draco could hear in the room was his own breathing. His alert, grey eyes surveyed the area for a moment, but then realizing that he was all alone, he closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the cold stone, letting it cool his anger.   
  
The chill of the floor seeped into his body. After a minute, he stood up and dusted off his clothes. Judging by the angle of the sunlight, he decided that it was late morning, ten o’clock-ish perhaps. He didn’t have his watch on him.   
  
Then, he remembered why he was here. A growl rumbled in his throat. He stalked over to the nearest wall and punched it, hissing as his knuckles hit unyielding stone. He pounded it with his fist, and rested his head against the stone, wanting to yell obscenities in the air.   
  
“Well,  _that_ was incredibly stupid.”   
  
Draco whirled around to face the figure floating in the air. “Well, I think you being an epic fail at getting your head cut off successfully is incredibly stupid. Maybe if you could have gotten killed the _right_ way, you wouldn’t be having little ghosty drama right now,” Draco bit back, seething.   
  
Nearly Headless Nick looked at the boy with translucent eyes. “You want to talk about it?”   
  
“About what?” Draco asked coldly, eyes narrowing into slits.   
  
“Well obviously, your  _knickers_  are in a twist--”   
  
“My knickers,” Draco said with a face, “Are not in a twist. Just because yours are for eternity, doesn’t mean that mine are today. I’m  _Draco Malfoy_ \--”   
  
Nearly Headless Nick looked at him with a curious expression. “You say your name like I should know who you are…”   
  
“Because you should, damn it!” Draco shouted suddenly, wrenching away from the wall. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself afterwards, hand itching to punch the wall again. “I’m talking to a ghost.”   
  
“Way to state the obvious, sir.” Nearly Headless Nick rolled his eyes.   
  
Draco turned around again, with an expression on his face that was simply livid. “You think you could go ride off somewhere while I--”   
  
“Punch the wall again? I think not,” The ghost said, perching, if ghosts could do that, on the table.   
  
“Well then,” Draco spat, “Could you tell the Headmistress or Professor Snape that they have someone that needs to get back into the game  _now_?”   
  
Nick’s eyes twinkled. “Well, I  _could_ …”   
  
Draco looked at him tiredly. “Just do it.”   
  
“Ah, ah,  _ah_!” The ghost replied with a funny grin on his face. “I didn’t hear you say  _that_ word.”   
  
“You say 'that word' like I should know what you're talking about,” Draco said, puzzled and thoroughly pissed off. Why could the stupid little ghosty just do what he wanted him to?   
  
“Oh, come on. Even lowlifes like  _you_  have used it, Mr. Malfoy. Six letters, rhymes with cheese?”   
  
Draco cursed under his breath. “Just tell me the bloody word,” He said as quietly as he could, “And I’ll say it back.” He couldn’t sodding believe this. He was arguing with a… a ghost for Merlin’s sake!   
  
“Well, where in the world would be the fun in that?” Nick said, clearly enjoying himself.   
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco spat sarcastically whilst he rolled his eyes. “Could we just get on with it?”   
  
“Play a game with me, and I’ll tell you what it is.”   
  
Draco lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not fond of games.”   
  
“Well,” Nick started, looking at his translucent nails, “I am, and you, little sir, are at my mercy right now.”   
  
“What do you mean, at  _your_ mer-”   
  
Nick looked up at him and gave him a nonchalant look. “Minerva doesn’t come here until six in the afternoon or so, so I guess you’ll just have to wait a while,” he said, while floating up off the table and towards a wall.   
  
Draco cursed as the ghost started to disappear through the wall. “Wait!”   
  
The ghost didn’t stop. He cursed himself for what he was about to say. “I’ll play your bloody game!”   
  
Nearly Headless Nick’s head popped through the wall with a big smile. “Oh, you will?”   
“Yeah,” Draco said, loathing himself right now. He couldn’t believe that he was about to play a game with a bloody  _ghost_. This was… unheard of for a Malfoy.   
  
“Well, you know what?”   
  
Draco stayed silent, figuring this was a redundant question. The answer could be anything.   
  
“I changed my mind.”   
  
“What?” Draco blurted. “I thought you said--”   
  
“Yes,” Nick sighed, “But I don’t want to play anymore. Instead, you have to do me a favor.”   
  
Draco sighed with relief. He could do that. It sure beat having to play hide and seek, or duck-duck goose with this loony ghost. “What is it?” Draco asked, voice skeptical.   
  
“I want you to tell the Headless Horsemen that I am worthy of joining their club.”   
  
Draco stared at the ghost. “Um, in case you haven’t noticed, you still have a head, and the name is the  _Headless_ Horseme--”   
  
“I  _know_ that!” Nearly Headless Nick interjected angrily, ghostly decibels echoing through the hall. “You could--“   
  
“What am I supposed to say? 'Well, this guy with a head over here, wants to be in your jolly 'headless' club. Besides, why do you think that those brainless dead things are going to listen to  _me_?” Draco asked, crossing his arms.   
  
Nick rolled his eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re bloody  _Draco Malfoy_ , if they don’t listen to  _you_ -”   
  
“I thought you didn’t think my name mattered,” Draco said coldly, narrowing his eyes. It was almost as bad as when Hermione had called him a pureblood. Suddenly, a hot, deadly anger swept through his body as he remembered her. He was going to kill her, point blank.   
  
“Well, I changed my mind.”   
  
Draco repressed the urge to roll his eyes and settled for a disgusted sigh instead. “Well, could you just make your flip-flop mind or something? Oh! Wait, forgive me. You want to  _loose_  yours.”   
  
Nick sized the boy up, refusing to give a rebuttal to the stubborn teenager. “That’s my demand, take it or leave it.”   
  
A minute of silence passed as Draco pondered the thought. It was impossible, that he knew. How was he going to tell a lot of Headless guys that a not-headless guy wanted to join their club. Then he realized, Nick had left a  _huge_  loophole. He didn’t have to convince these brainless ghosts that Nick was worthy, he just had to  _tell_  them. Big difference. He felt a smirk curl onto his lips.   
  
Nick surveyed the boy before him in silence. This boy was truly bothered by something, he realized. The way he clenched his hands, the way he punched the wall with such force that it made him wake up. He watched the cold, calculating look transform in seconds, the lush lips that could only belong to a cruel Malfoy curled into a smirk. He felt an unease creep through him.   
  
“Alright, bring them in,” Draco said heartily, smiling for the first time in a long time. He swept the ghost a bow. “I’m at your service.”   
  
Nick looked at him suspiciously. “You’ll tell them I’m worthy?”   
  
Draco’s happy-go-lucky eyes suddenly went shrewd, “And in turn you’ll get the Headmistress right away, without question?”   
  
“You have my word,” Nick said, disappearing through the wall to get his ‘friends.’   
  
 _Yeah._  Draco thought.  _Whatever the word of a ghost can mean_. He waited silently, knowing that they would be here in several moments.   
  
He glared at the wall he had punched only minutes ago. He felt the anger flood his body again. He couldn’t believe that the little Mudblood would shoot him,  _him_ ,  _Draco_  bloody  _Malfoy_  of all people! His eyes narrowed at the memory. He was disgusted with himself. Unconsciously, he realized, that he was trying to impose his manliness on her. He had been trying to  _seduce_  the answer out of her.   
  
He supposed that it was a Malfoy trait.  _Yeah- blame your name for it._  A snide voice said in his head. He silenced it immediately. He smirked lightly as he realized that she had almost fallen for it. Then, a frown instantly fell over his face. He had almost fallen for it too.   
  
Something had changed, he didn’t know when, or why. Maybe it was because he woke up with her body against his in the morning. And it was a _nice_  body, he had realized that morning. It was hard, but soft and full in all the right places. He wasn’t sure what shocked him more, was that she was in the bed _with_  him, or the fact that he didn’t know how she had gotten there in the first place. It was a novelty, to be sure.   
  
He had woken up lusting someone that morning, to wake up to find Hermione Granger in his bed. It was disconcerting, the coincidence. He had willed away the lust, once the surprise and shock wore off: he didn’t like surprises. He always had to be in control. That never happened when the little dirty-blooded minx was around.   
  
He ran his hand through his messy hair, trying to block her from his mind. It was hormones, that was all. She wasn’t even  _beautiful_  for crying out loud. He just liked… liked fighting with her, and riling her up to see the flame spark in her eyes, to see her flush with anger. She was so damn  _sexy_ when she got angry.   
  
He groaned, and put his face in his hands. This was ridiculous. Then, he remembered the one reason why he was angry.   
  
She had shot him. He could still feel the bullet lodge into his chest, could still see the look off horror and triumph, an odd combination, on her plain face as he traced the ‘x’ scar that he had left on her face the last time that they had fought.   
As he thought about it, he felt the bullet crash through his chest again--   
  
BOOM!   
  
Draco’s heart almost leaped from his chest as ghostly, transparent boulders dislodged from the walls of the Great Hall as the Headless Horsemen clubbers galloped through the wall, not caring what they ran into. Ghostly tables crashed over, splintering, breaking as the ghostly hooves trampled them to the ground as they made a formation around Draco.   
  
He looked over at Nicholas, and opened his mouth in disgust. “Is that a  _bowtie_?” he whispered as the boulders began shifting quietly, as he looked at the outdated red and white polka dotted bowtie that was much too big. He scoffed.  _Stupid Gryffindors_.   
  
The room finally went silent. All that he could here was his own breathing, the horses’ breathing, and the pounding of his own heart. He waited for one of them to say something, but then realized with a silent laugh, that they couldn’t talk. He almost laughed out loud. He hid a snigger as he breathed in, trying to keep his face calm for Nick. Could they even  _hear_  him?   
  
“I wanted to call you to this meeting for something very important, that I, Draco Malfoy, only living heir of the Malfoy lineage, have to say to you.”   
  
Suddenly, he felt the mood of the air change. He almost smirked as he realized what the mood in the room was: respect. Maybe they  _could_ hear him after all. With that thought came another, maybe they could see him too. Invisible eyes. How dandy.   
  
He cleared his throat. “I have called you to say one thing: I believe truly, and with my heart,” Nick looked like he wanted to roll his eyes; Draco dutifully ignored him, “That Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, also known as Nearly Headless Nick,” Nick’s eyebrows disappeared into his eyebrows. He didn’t know that the boy even knew his full name! He listened as the influential Slytherin continued, “is,”  _-quote-_  “, worthy of joining your prestigious club.” He waited a moment for his words to sink in. “You are dismissed now.”   
  
Suddenly, the horsemen galloped from position, knocking over more ghostlike benches and tables, and disappeared back into the walls. He looked over from the wall to a blubbering Nick. “Get the Headmistress, please,” He requested, sitting down at one of the real benches, smugness emanating from his very stance.   
  
“But.., but…” Nearly Headless Nick blubbered, “You didn’t convince them-”  
  
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You simply told me to tell them that you were worthy. Which I did, and rather dramatically and convincingly, I might add. Now you have to get McGonagall.  _That_ , my ghosty pal, was our deal.” His voice was cold and uncompromising. He had done what he was asked.   
  
Nick mumbled, struggling for words for a moment, then stopped, pressing his lips together as his hair floated into the air with a frantic rage. “I’ll get you back for this.”   
  
“For what?” Draco asked, innocently. “You got what you wanted from me. Now shoo, I expect McGonagall in here in less than five minutes. Why don’t you go run into a wall?” He suggested, relaxing.   
  
The ghost shot him one more angry look, furious with himself for even getting into a deal with the boy. It was a stupid thing to do. It was a novelty, for him, the Gryffindor Ghost, to get outsmarted by a mere teenager, but here he was, an idiot and a fool. He took his eyes of the boy and sighed as he floated through the wall.   
  
Draco watched the ghost as it disappeared, and let out an exasperated sigh as the clock chimed. One by one, the chimes came- he counted eleven. Everything depended on the ghost getting the Headmistress: or else he would be stuck here for seven more hours with nothing to do. He wasn’t sure that he could do that.   
  
Suddenly, the doors flew open to reveal none other than the headmistress herself. Her hair was in it’s regular knot, but it was looking as frazzled as ever. Not even three minutes had passed that Nick had been gone!   
  
Behind the tartan-clad Headmistress was the old Potions teacher; professor Snape, and behind that…   
  
Draco flew up from his chair, a true smile lighting his face. “Theo! When did you get here?”   
  
Theodore Knott was tall for his age, reaching a burly 6’3”. He towered over Draco by two inches. His hair was a dark, midnight black that fell casually into his piercing, forest green eyes. His skin was fair, unmarred by freckles or the scars of teenage puberty. His family, other than the Malfoy family, was one of the most prestigiously ranked purebloods in all of England. Even the world, most likely. He let a small smile grace his cruel lips as he saw his best friend. “Just today, actually. I’m getting sorted into this game?”   
  
Draco nodded lightly, trying to suppress his excitement. With Theodore, he could win anything! “It’s a lot of…  _fun_ ,” Draco said carefully, but his face showed the truth.   
  
“Fun, Draco? Is that word even in your vocabulary?” Theodore asked, as Minerva led him to the stool.   
  
“Yeah,” Draco thought, thinking of the danger, the island, the fights, Hermione…. “I guess you could say that.”   
  
“Well, then. I guess you could say that I’m, oh… what’s the word… Psyched?”   
  
Draco laughed. Blaise was a good friend and all, but Theodore… He couldn’t explain it, but they were like brothers. Very good brothers who could share everything and anything. They knew when the other one didn’t want to talk, and just what to say at the right time. Their ‘timing’ was fabulous too. Honestly, what coincidence was it that Draco would die at almost the same time that Theo came back? His point exactly. They were blood brothers. The end.   
  
He watched with grey eyes as the scope was pressed into his friend’s hand. Silence suddenly descended upon the room as the needle whirred around it’s circular prison. Apparently, Snape had already told him what was going to happen and such.   
  
“Pirate,” Snape announced, as the needle stopped whirring.   
  
Theodore grinned. “Well, that sounds like fun.”   
  
Draco grinned back, “Oh trust me, it is.”   
  
Minerva looked at the two, feeling slightly odd to see two Slytherins actually  _smiling_. It was unnatural. “Well, Mr. Knott, I really don’t have any open positions, so… Wait. Mr. Malfoy, what are you--? Oh yes. I forgot. Sir Nicholas told me.” Her eyes instantly narrowed at him. Draco resisted the urge to squirm under her gaze. He was a  _Malfoy,_  for Merlin’s sake! When would these idiots get it?  
  
“Well, Mr. Knott, it seems that there is an opening on Mr. Malfoy’s ex-ship. Mr. Zabini is there. Perhaps that would be the best place to set your right now?”   
  
“What, without Draco--?”   
  
“Yes,” McGonagall answered firmly. “He died, that’s why he’s here. Don’t forget the rules. If you do, ask Mr. Zabini, or even Ms. Granger to refresh them for you.”   
  
Theodore looked back at Draco as he walked to the silver doors of the portal, a look of disbelief on his face. “Granger?” he mouthed.  
  
And then, he was through the door. The silver portal slammed shut behind him. Draco looked at the closed doors, wishing he would’ve had more time with his friend. He turned away from them to face…   
  
A seething McGonagall. Oh. Well…. This couldn’t be good.   
  
“Now, where to put you, Mr. Malfoy?” She said, voice a little harsh. He wasn’t sure that he liked that tone at all.   
  
“Wherever you would like to put me, I suppose,” he answered cautiously. Somehow, giving his suggestions didn’t seem like a good idea. If the fire that was flying out of the usually tame teachers’ dark eyes was any indication… then perhaps being silent right now was the best option.   
  
“Well, I don’t know,” Minerva said in a cold voice. “Where am I supposed to send underhanded, disrespectful students, Mr. Malfoy?”   
  
“What students are we talking about, Professor?”   
  
Her eyes narrowed even more. Oops. That was probably a bad move.   
  
“How about… A general?” She asked, eyes suddenly un-narrowing. Her face suddenly grew… malicious? No, he must have been hallucinating. His eyes darted around the room. Where had Snape gotten off to?   
  
“He’s not here,” she answered, almost smugly. “It’s just you and me, Mr. Malfoy.”   
His eyes went slightly wide. Was she on crack or something? “Umm.. Professor? Are you alright?”   
  
Minerva simply gave him a little smile. “I’m fine. Now, I know exactly where to put you!”  
  
He didn’t like the sound of it.   
  
She took his arm and walked him to the portal doors, and opened it, shoving him in. “Off you go! Maybe you’ll learn your lesson this time!” She called in after him.   
  
And he was off in the pretty swirl of colors. Joy. This time, though, he braced himself, starting to jog in midair. He didn’t want to land on his behind if he was going to be in front of anyone. That would be embarrassing.   
  
Then, he noticed that this time, he wasn’t as much falling. The vortex ended, dumping him into thin air. He kept pumping his feet, this time, landing gracefully on the balls of his feet. He stood up from his crouch and started walking. He looked down at his clothes, uniform buttons staring up at him from his chest. Little silver buttons… A Scarlett uniform. What was this?   
  
He dusted off his clothes lightly. Merlin, why was it so  _quiet?_  His eyes flew up to find…   
  
Oh no.  _No_. No.  ** _No!_**  That evil  _hag_! “You have  _got_ to be kidding me.”   
  
The men in the room of officials took in Draco’s general status outfit. They saw the medals on his chest in awe and disbelief. Then he saw the man glaring at him from the middle of the room.   
  
“I was about to say the same thing.”   
  
Draco almost gasped in the unfairness of it all. “Potter,” he spat.   
  
Harry raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “It's 'Your Highness' to you, Malfoy.”   
  
Well, this was bad. How did he know that? Well, it definitely wasn't good. It wasn't good  _at all.._.


	16. Death and Victory

Hermione looked into Blaise’s eyes with a reckless smile and held her hands out. “Come on, Blaise, don’t be such a scaredy cat.”   
  
Blaise looked from Hermione to the gun in his hand, and back again. “You know what, Granger?”   
  
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”   
  
Suddenly, he walked forward and grasped her by the arm, dragging her out of the room. The sunlight burst in her face. “No, no!  _Blaise!_  What do you think you’re--?”   
  
Her question was cut off by the seven pairs of eyes staring at her. “Hermione Granger?” Colin Creevy asked, eyes agog. His hands instantly reached for a camera that was hanging by his side. Her eyes narrowed at it instantly.  _He must have snuck it on here, the little paparazzi._  
Hermione pulled her wand out and froze him. “You have  _Colin Creevy_  on your ship?” She hissed through her teeth.   
  
Blaise picked up his shoulders. “He blew his own head off trying to take a picture of a cannon when he was over at Potter’s. He just got here this morning.”   
  
Hermione threw a glance at the frozen boy. “No pictures of me, Creevy, or I’ll cut your head off.” She unfroze him and his hands instantly flew to his camera. She froze him again, saying, “I’m serious Colin. I  _will_  do it. And  _slowly,_  so that you can feel every vein popping away from that head of yours.”   
  
She watched as an invisible shiver ran through his body and Blaise gave Hermione a small nod, and then opened his mouth to speak to the seven people on this ship. “This is your new captain.”   
  
One of them shrugged. “Can’t be much better than the Dragon, but whatever.”   
  
Hermione growled inside. Merlin! She was  _much_  better than that piece of seductive…. That SNAKE. “I’m sure that Malfoy was a great captain to you all, but I intend to do better. I’m not asking you to like me,” she said ruefully, “But I am asking for your cooperation. I’m the only person on this ship ample to do the job.”   
  
Blaise put his hand on her shoulder and smiled, something that came easier when Hermione was around. “Besides,” he said, looking at the crew, “I’ve been on the same ship with her. She’s got my support.”   
  
The crew looked at her with a slightly peaked interest now. _Gee, you would think they were a whole new bunch of Malfoy clones from their almost indifferent expressions!_  Hermione thought to herself. She gently shrugged Blaise’s hand off of her shoulder. She had a plan that had to be enacted. She  _had_  to save Harry: that was priority number one.   
  
Her brows creased. The only problem was: She had NO idea how to do it.   
  
She released Colin from his spell and turned her back to the sun. Instantly, the white hot flash of camera lighting hit her face for a moment. A growl escaped her lips as she lunged for Colin, taking him by surprise. Her hands grasped the camera, and in the blink of an eye, the apparatus was flying through the air.   
  
The crew fell silent as they listened to the splash of the camera hitting the still waves.   
  
Colin broke the silence by screaming out loud and rushing over to the edge, watching his ‘precious’ sink deeper, and deeper….   
  
“You pirate… pirate.. WITCH!” He yelled in Hermione’s face, blue eyes dancing in their sockets crazily.   
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”   
  
Then Colin Creevy did the one thing that he would be remembered for quite possibly the rest of his life. Slowly, he raised his hand up and put down his pinky finger, then his thumb, then his ring finger, then his pointer finger….   
  
“No thanks, Colin. I don’t go blue-eyed blondes,” Hermione said nonchalantly. She had specifically told him not to take the bloody picture! What was she supposed to do? Let him take another one?   
  
Colin Creevy looked at her, then over the railing, then at her again. With a few ugly choice words, he leapt over the railing, shouting something that sounded like “Daaa Oooo.”   
  
But Hermione could never be sure.  A flash of blue light filled the air. Obviously the world knew that she wasn't going to go and send anyone after him. Pity.  
  
She looked at her new crew, exhaustion already taking over her bones. It was like fate didn’t want her to play James Bond. She was ever the leader in charge of everyone else, never free to be her own unit. Sometimes it was a good thing, time like now, however, it was not.   
  
“Anyone else want to jump overboard?” she asked, brow raised. She couldn’t be herself around these people. They’d probably kill her in her sleep! Which reminded her… Pansy..   
  
A boy with a shock of chocolate hair on his head and deep brown eyes looked at her with intense eyes, “Well, you didn’t kill him, did you?”   
  
“No!” Hermione almost shouted. She took a moment to compose herself. “No, I would never do that.”   
  
 _Or would I?_  Hermione mentally shrugged the question off. She’d just have to save that for later. She could feel the snake coiled up inside her, ready to spring at any sign of him. She knew she would have to make the decision to bite, or not to bite.   
  
“Well then,” the boy said, with a slight, challenging smile on his lips, “We’ll just have to see if you can do any better than the Dragon. I don't think that's possible.”   
  
Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself, but then she closed it. The boy looked at her and nodded, a smirk on his face. She didn’t like him already.  _Merlin!_  Wasn’t the world plagued enough with one real Malfoy around, without all of the clones? She narrowed her eyes at him. “You will address me as captain, or Captain Granger-”   
  
“Or Captain Hell. She absolutely  _adores_  that one!” Blaise chimed in, a wicked smirk on his dark lips.   
  
Hermione glared at him. “It doesn’t matter. You can even call me by my first name, if you want,” she said to the rest of the group. “But please, I will do my best if you just cooperate with me.” She gave them a harsh smile and went up to the wheel, shouting out her orders, watching with a stern, critical eye as they went to their posts. She watched as their hands ran down the ropes, coiling them, tying them, taking up the masts….   
  
All in all, looked like Malfoy did a great job, she had to concede. They didn’t miss a beat. She would have expected their work to be half-done, sloppy, slow, incomplete. But it was perfect. She narrowed her eyes against the wind. That one little detail made her worry about as much as it should have: a lot. A new question now bugged her, immensely.   
  
Had she underestimated him too much?   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco felt his muscles seize up momentaraly, but instantly, he forced them to relax. He had too look like this didn’t faze him. It didn’t matter that he was so scared and out of his element that he wanted wet his pants, no! That didn’t matter at all! What mattered was the impression he made. It would make his life here either a whole lot worse… or just worse. “Still king, are we, Potter? I’m surprised no one has killed you yet!” Draco exclaimed, a dark smirk curling on his lips.   
  
Harry raised a brow. “Ah, yes, Malfoy, a feat that you seem to have failed.”   
  
 _As cocky as ever,_  Draco conceded, taking in his archenemies casual, open stance. He suspected that the King himself, was trying to look that way. Draco’s smirk grew wider. “Sometimes death leads to victory. You obviously wouldn‘t know, now, would you, Potter?”   
  
Silence filled the room as the two boys glared at each other. Harry, with wariness, Draco, with anticipation. He smirked to himself.  _Looks like ol’ Potty has been working on his comebacks. This should make for an interesting time_.   
  
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put you in front of a firing squad right now?” Harry asked, voice laced with hate.   
  
“In case I’m mistaken, I’m pretty sure that firing squads don’t exist in this day and age. Aren’t you barbarians and hang people? Or am I in the wrong world?”   
  
Harry glared at Draco. “Was that a reason?”   
  
“Why, yes,” Draco conceded, “I suppose it was. Another: I don’t believe I’ve committed treason, and if you’re too dimwitted to see that that isn’t a reason to be hung then try this one: I’m not a pirate, Potter!” His lips lapsed back into their normal position: his beautiful, deadly, sexy, ever present smirk.   
  
“You’re lying.”   
  
Draco sighed. “Do you want me to kill you so you can go and find out?”   
  
The many wigged men in the room stared at the newcomer, not knowing what to make of him. Seamus had instantly crossed his arms, closing all hopes (not that Draco had any) for communication, and Neville looked like he was going to wet himself any moment from fear. Draco had never seen anyone so cowed before in his entire lifetime!   
  
A tense moment passed, and still, Harry didn’t say a word. “Should I take that as a yes?” Draco asked, hopeful.   
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”   
  
Draco grinned to himself. Harry was avoiding his question. One point for him! “Well, obviously, I got sorted here, and apparently, by the clothes that I’m wearing, I guess you could say I’m the new general in town.”   
  
“Under  _my_  command,” Harry added, a smirk of his own forming on his lips.   
  
Draco raised a brow. “For now, perhaps.”   
  
“Was that a--”   
  
“What is going on-- MALFOY! What in bloody  _hell_  are you doing here?” Ron asked, storming in, the doors slamming shut loudly behind him.   
  
“Well, it’s nice to see you too, Weaselebee. Tell me, how is your relationship with Potty going? Is it hard for you to be submissive? Harry is such a dominant character!”   
  
Ron snarled at him. “Don’t you  _dare_  talk to me like that, you  _murderer!”_    
  
“So, are you saying that there is something between you two?” Draco asked, finally relaxing. This was his element: making their life a complete, utter, personal hell, where the devil was yours truly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad here after all….   
  
Ron growled. “I am  _not_ a homosexual--”   
  
“But Harry  _is_?” Draco asked, voice piqued. Good, he was making the conversation go where he wanted it too. He refused to give answer on the ‘murderer’ comment. He had a funny feeling that he knew exactly what the red-head was referring to.   
  
“ _We_ ,” Ron said, making sure that he wasn’t going to be misinterpreted, “are _not_  homosexuals. If you weren’t stupid enough to go and die, maybe you would know that Harry is engaged!”   
  
They all fell silent for a moment. Draco bristled slightly at the word ‘stupid.’ He raised a perfect brow and turned to Harry. “Really? And who‘s the unlucky girl?”   
  
Harry glared at him. “Down the dock, ship in slot four. Take it, and  _disappear.”_    
  
 _He says that like I'm some sort of magical act._ Draco smirked. “Getting rid of me so soon, are we? Why don’t you invite me to tea? I  _am_  your new captain, you know. And I’m sure that Neville would like to join us,  _wouldn’t_  you, Longbottom?” he offered, grinning to himself when Neville’s face turned a little greener. It was absolutely sublime!   
  
“No, he  _wouldn’t_. What we  _would_  like, however, is if you would start following orders, like a good little captain.” Harry's voice had turned cold and defensive.  
  
Draco’s eyes snapped over to Harry’s. “And what is it that I’m supposed to be doing?”   
  
It was Ron, though, who answered. “Go get us a pirate ship, would you, ferret? That’s your first assignment. Now go, you bloody Death Eater.”   
  
Draco looked at Ron’s red ears, and cold eyes, then they moved slowly to the badge on his shoulder. Apparently Ron was the second in command here. Draco didn't even have to guess who was first.  _Some things just never change_ , Draco thought, amused. “If it’s alright, weasel, I’ll take orders from the  _firs_ t in charge.  _Seconds_  mean nothing to me.”   
  
Ron opened his mouth once, then twice, to speak. But nothing came out. Then, with a glare that would have killed him before he could utter another word, Ron turned around and stormed out the door, the slam echoing through everyone’s bones.   
  
Draco looked at Harry, “Orders, your  _majesty_?”   
  
But Harry wasn’t looking at Draco; he was looking at the door that just slammed. _If only Hermione were here…._  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione watched as Pansy was taken down to the hold, and put behind bars. However, she made sure that she was accommodated with a bed and food. She would get to spend most of the day on deck, if she wished. Hermione didn’t have the heart to treat her like a criminal.   
  
“That’s a nice ring,” Blaise commented, looking down at her finger, “Where’d you get it?”   
  
She looked at him, puzzled. What was he--?   
  
Then the world came crashing down around her. The ring. The bet…  _Merlin!_  She had forgotten all about it! “I… I don’t quite remember,” Hermione said, her world rocking at the moment. So that’s why Pansy killed  _him_  and not _her_! She would have lost the bet!   
  
 _But he wasn’t going to even kiss you!_  A voice in her head screamed. Hermione’s brows furrowed. She left the statement alone. She didn't have the cranial space right now to be wondering about that.   
  
“Well, I like it. It looks like it has a meaning or something,” he said, pulling her hand closer to his eyes, looking at it. “It almost looks familiar--”   
  
Hermione jerked her hand away. She saw a flash of hurt rush across his eyes and instantly felt guilty. “I’m sorry, Blaise, I’m just tired,” she said, trying to justify herself. “Do you think I could--?”   
  
“Oh, of course!” he answered, slightly crestfallen. “I’ll take over the wheel for you, if you’d like.”   
  
Hermione nodded wearily, running her hand through her hair, making a mental note that she needed to braid it up. It’d be easier to manage that way. “Thanks, Blaise, I knew I could count on you.”   
  
He just gave her a small smile and push toward the cabin direction. “Nap well!”   
  
Hermione grinned over her shoulder. “Thanks!”   
  
She walked, legs tired as she pushed through the door. Instantly, a whoosh of his scent filled her nose. Then she realized what she was going to have to do. She looked at the only bed in the room.   
  
Oh,  _hell_ no!   
  
 _Absolutely not!_  Hermione yelled at herself mentally. She was not going to sleep in  _his_  bed!   
  
 _It’s not like he’s in there…_  A voice said logically in her head.   
  
“It doesn’t matter!” Hermione murmured. It was the principle that it was _his_  bed. If it was Harry's, Ron's, or shoot, even The Bloody Baron's, she would do it. But this was  _Draco Malfoy's_ bed. She couldn’t… wouldn’t….   
  
 _Oh screw it._  She took off her boots and laid them in the corner, and headed towards the bed. A small patch of green caught her eye. She looked, and there it was; a half-eaten apple.   
  
She took out her wand and vanished it, not realizing that she was holding a breath from the first time she saw it. She bit her lip, trying to race her speeding heart down. He had _bitte_ n that apple. His  _lips_  had  _touched_ \--”   
  
Hermione threw her head into a pillow and screamed.  _Get a grip of yourself, Granger!_  Her brain yelled at her. She breathed in, after her small pillow therapy session, then stopped breathing. Her lungs were filled with  _his_  scent. The piney, woodsy, expensive smell wouldn’t go away! It surrounded her like a cloud, refusing to let her go.  Her senses were reeling.  
  
She stepped off the bed, and quickly  _scourgified_  herself. There wasn’t any water in the room, and she was too tired to go out and get some. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do. It was everything she was against! In  _his_  bed!   
  
Hermione took her clothing off, laying it across the top of  _his_  chair, so the day could air out of it. She went over to the chest at the foot of the bed automatically, expecting her nightgowns to be inside. Instantly, her mouth went dry. In the chest were  _his_  shirts. She looked up; hanging on the post of _his_  bed was  _his_  robe. Her fingers reached out to touch the fabric of the top shirt in the chest. It was burgundy, silky, soft to the touch, and most of all, it was  _forbidden_.   
  
Her fingers clutched it and pulled it out. She knew that she shouldn’t do it: but the logical side won out. She couldn’t sleep in the nude, lest something happen on board, and she couldn’t sleep in her clothing… that would be nasty. She deftly buttoned the shirt, trying not to think about what she was doing. She bit her tongue as more of his scent filtered up her nostrils; it was stronger now.   
  
She walked over to the bed, and almost as she reached it, her toe hit something. She glanced down, and saw the corner of a little black book.   
  
His diary.   
  
Something inside of her cackled with glee. She had so much time to figure out how to open it! Then she could know all his secrets, and--   
  
 _Hermione!_  A maternal voice in her head said indignantly.  _You would never!_  
Well, of course she would never! But they were talking about  _Draco Malfoy_ , here! He just happened to be the only exception to the rule. She took the diary and put it on the nightstand, next to her wand. Hermione walked over to the porthole, and covered it with the curtain that was placed conveniently beside, encasing the room with darkness.   
  
She walked over to the bed, knees buckling slightly as the scent hit her dead on. She climbed into the bed, and pulled the covers over herself, struggling not to breath in too deeply.   
  
Her mind was frayed. She was in  _Draco Malfoy’s_  bed, surrounded by  _Draco Malfoy’s_  scent, in  _Draco Malfoy’s_  sodding _shirt_ , in his bloody  _room!_  She couldn’t imagine how many girls would _kill_  to be in her place… literally.   
  
One thing that she didn’t want to imagine though, were the dreams that her circumstances would bring.   
  
Hermione closed her eyes, his scent penetrating her every pore. She fought not to think about what in the world she was doing, where she was at, and who’s shirt it was in. After a while later of fighting her thoughts, Hermione fell into a deep and troubled sleep.   
  
That was the first  time that she dreamed about Draco Malfoy.  
  
In a good way.


	17. Rude Awakenings

She might not have underestimated him, but what she  _did_ know is that she  _definitely_ underestimated his crew. They were a whole bunch of little Malfoys! She had woken up, groaning, into the morning. She had been much more tired than she thought she was.   
  
Only to walk out of the door to a bucket of seawater emptying on her head.   
  
Well, that honestly brought a new definition to ‘a rude awakening.’ It had been three days, twelve sections of slippery planks for her to fall down on her behind, twenty-seven ropes lifted off the ground just high enough for her to trip on, three knobs of the wheel covered with sap… and that had been just a small part of it.   
  
Hermione was about to lose it.   
  
She gritted her teeth as she stood at the wheel. Her eyes scanned the ropes, noticing knots that weren’t there before. She locked the wheel angrily and walked calmly down the stairs. It was an almost impossible feat due to the anger thrumming through her veins. Dawn was just beginning to come over the horizon.   
  
Hermione quietly went over to the bell hanging by the stair and yanked on the rope. The bell almost deafened her, its clear ring penetrated the air. Hermione braced herself and stepped out onto the deck, waiting patiently. Blaise burst from his rooms in seconds and came to stand beside her, sleep still in his eyes. But he was there, none the less. She excused it, turning her gaze to the door.   
  
“You’re soaked.”   
  
“I didn’t notice,” Hermione answered dryly as a small puddle formed around her. She tried to ignore the ring that was burning on her hand. How could have she forgotten about the bet? She groaned inwardly… Trying to forget about it. She didn’t want to think about!   
  
 _10 seconds.. 20 seconds.. .Well, if we were being attacked, our ship would have burned down by now,_  she thought as she counted mentally, second by second.   
  
Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing her half-dressed crew. They stumbled out the door as the sun burst over the horizon. Several of them groaned at the light, their cutlasses glinting in their hands lazily.   
  
“Thirty-eight seconds. We’ve been dead for twenty. Isn’t that just peachy?” Hermione asked, surveying them. “And I figured that since you all decided to wake me, I wanted to wake you.”   
  
The boy with brown hair rolled his eyes- “You’re such a--”   
  
Suddenly, a bright blue light flashed into the air, blinding everyone.   
  
Hermione opened her eyes, the flash still dancing in her eyes. “What the-”   
  
“So  _that’s_  what Mrs. Panties in a Wad was talking about.”   
  
 _Oh, no. Absolutely NOT!_  Hermione shook her head a little bit and then stared at the apparition before her. She was hallucinating, she had to be.   
  
Theodore Knott stood there in all his glory, not looking at all awkward in his new, rugged pirate clothes. His black hair shot up from his head, disheveled, as it was at school. Even in rags, he emanated a confident air. His cool amber eyes assessed her, looking her from head to toe. “Looking nice, Granger.”   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t look at me.”   
  
Theodore laughed, a cold, chilling laugh. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know that putting my eyes on you disgusted you. I mean, you should be honored! After all, you _are_  a  _Mudblood_ \--”   
  
Hermione’s sword was out of its sheath and under his chin in less than a second. The laughter died on his lips, and his eyes went down to the cold metal that was kissing the skin of his throat. “Put it down, Granger.”   
  
“You’re not exactly in the position to boss me around, Knott,” Hermione said, glaring into his lazy ochre gaze.   
  
He smirked, a little. “You won’t kill me, Granger. Last time I checked, you were liberating house elves. Are you supposed to be murder now?” He whispered so quietly that no one else heard. “Or do you just have a split-personality?”   
  
Hermione felt an ice chill creeping through her body despite the warm heat outside. “You don’t know that.”   
  
“What?”  
  
“You know, maybe I should just kill you right now,” Hermione countered.   
  
“You don’t want to do that,” he responded, ochre eyes chilling.   
  
“Oh, I think I  _do_.”   
  
He stepped back from her blade and gave her a bow. “Draco said to watch my back around you, so I think I will.”   
  
“He said what?” Hermione asked, voice chilled. She didn’t want that… git talking about her.   
  
“If you don’t mind Captain Hell, I think I’m going to go and get the ropes from Blaise. I have a lot of learning to do, don’t you think?”   
  
Hermione bristled at the young man who walked out with Blaise- her only friend on the ship.   
  
She looked at the smirking crew, opening and closing her mouth for a few seconds, trying to say something. Finally, she hissed, “What are you looking at? Back to work!”   
  
The crew exchanged glances, and after a moment, did as they were told.   
  
She wondered what Malfoy would have done, if he were still Captain…   
  
But then she pushed the thought away. She looked over to the horizon, seeing the dark clouds that were brewing, forming an intimidating wall before them.   
  
She gripped the helm. A storm was coming and she couldn’t be distracted.   
  
 _Stupid Malfoy._  
  


* * *

  
  
Susan looked at her disguise in the mirror. It would be a disguise that she would wear for the next week or so. She had charmed her face to be sharper, angled; a drastic change from her rounded face. Her outfit revealed a lot more than it should have showed. By appearance, she was just another extra. Just another _prostitute_  extra. Only the people who had seen her thus far into the game would see her for who she really was, which was a gem for where she was now.   
  
Susan was careful to hide the little wooden chest that was standing on her vanity. She propped it open, before stowing it away, to make sure everything was alright with the miniature version of the ship.   
  
The  _Lioness_ blazed inside the little box. It had taken the whole crew and then some to shrink her small enough to fit. One simply spell could make it engorge; that wasn’t something that she wanted to happen here. It would give them away in less than a second. She opened a drawer and lifted the false bottom that she had installed earlier, and put the box in. Once she was convinced no one would be able to find it, she closed the drawer and looked back into the mirror, assessing herself.   
  
She had taken a lot of time picking out her alias. The new, different, black hair curled suggestively down her shoulders, her red dress hugged her right where it was supposed to. The corset she was wearing was light and flexible, yet still did their job. If she sat just the right way, her dress would split up to her midthigh, revealing a black garter and a red, ribboned stocking.   
  
It was shocking, even for her, she realized as she looked into the mirror, that she was about to spend a week or so getting something that she had never really gotten: male appreciation… Well, sort of. She wasn’t about to get any respect. She grinned and wondered what Hermione would say to her appearance now.   
  
She needed to get information, and fast: what better way than through this? She didn’t have enough time to become an emissary, a trusted soldier, or anything that would even get close to the King. She needed an inside immediately.   
  
This was definitely the way to go. She gave herself one more once-over, making sure she looked like liquid lust. She sighed, wishing that one day, she could get a man to want her for her  _real_  looks and self. This was definitely not the Susan Bones that the world knew. Not the dull, brown haired, brown eyed, cute Hufflepuff.   
  
A knock sounded on her window just as she was closing her cosmetic drawer. The coal pencil had rimmed her eyes, making them wide, and making her seem like she knew a little secret… and she wanted to tell someone.   
  
She stepped away from the inn vanity and walked over to the window, unlatching it. She already knew who it was.   
  
Thaddius grinned at her, all in black.   
  
Susan rolled her eyes, walking back into the room. “Gee, Thads, the whole ‘all black thing’ isn’t conspicuous at all.”   
  
Thaddius snorted. “Ah, mademoiselle, but what does it matter? Your mission walked into the bar across the street.   
  
Susan smiled lightly, knowingly. “Looks like it‘s show time.”   
  
Thaddius shot her a look out of the side of his eye as he primped himself up in the mirror. “I don’t like this plan at all.”   
  
“And that’s why it’s going to work.”   
  
Thaddius turned to her so abruptly, a fierce look in his eyes. “Blaise wouldn’t like this!”   
  
Susan bristled. “Blaise isn’t my authority.”   
  
Thaddius laughed darkly, voice laced with something that Susan couldn’t quite place. “And my name isn‘t Thaddius.”   
  
Susan yanked a heeled shoe on. “You know what? I think that he would be proud of me. This is a pure Slytherin move and you know it!”   
  
“But you’re not a Slytherin.”   
  
Susan looked at him, and sighed. “I know. And that’s why this is going to work. No one is expecting it to happen.”   
  
“Suit yourself,” Thaddius said, jaw twitching. “Your mission is going to bounce if you don’t hurry up.”   
  
Susan shot him a look as she straightened up. “I’m done.”   
  
He gave her a once over, hazel eyes burning her. “You look… inappropriate.”   
  
Susan grinned and laughed, the tension in the air suddenly breaking. “Well, gee, Thads, I guess that’s the point!   
  
And with a sultry smile over her shoulder, she went out the door.   
  
Thaddius could do nothing more but watch as the plank of wood shut in his face like a splash of cold water. A silent rage filled him.   
  
It was unlike him to feel like this, to be this angry. He was the  _happy_ one, for crying out loud! He didn’t have to cranial space to become a member of the angst club. However, his feet moved over to the vanity of their own accord. His arms, detached from his brain, opened up the drawer and lifted the false bottom….   
  
The next moment, he was out the window. He had a duty to do. His feelings, however, didn’t matter. They didn’t even factor into the equation. At least, they weren’t  _supposed_  to...   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Ron walked into the Fliadopian version of a bar on the Fliadopian strip. It was the one place that no one could really find him, unless they were looking for him. The smell of alcohol permeated the air. “One fire whisky, please.” He took off his jacket that was sprinkled with little raindrops and hung it up on a hanger by the door. The room was musky.   
  
The bartender looked at him and laughed. “Ronald Weasley , right?”   
  
Ron grunted in response. A loud clang erupted from in front of him, the fire whiskey sloshed over the top of the mug. “Enjoy, General.”   
  
Run didn’t even look at him as he slid a gold coin towards the man. He grabbed the mug by the handle, and gulped it down in one go, slamming the mug on the table. The fire whisky left a burning trail down his throat. His head went a little clearer.   
  
Life really sucked. Royally. At least, here it sucked. Actually, he conceded, it was worse both places.   
  
 _Damn Malfoy._    
  
It had taken Ron every bit of willpower that he had not to launch at the slimy ferret. It took all he had. But he didn’t. And he even smarted off. He thought that, for once, he had won against the Slytherin Prince. And then, he lost. Again.   
  
It was the same cycle all the time. He didn’t like who he was becoming; didn’t like how the world was treating him. He didn’t like it at all. One day, he wasn’t going to be the sidekick, one day… maybe he could win.  _Maybe._    
  
The bell rang, signaling that someone else was coming in the door. Maybe they wanted to drink away their troubles, like he did. Ron heard a rustle of silk beside him, and suddenly, an overwhelming cloud of scented air entered his nostrils.   
  
He looked to the side, eyes suddenly going wide as he took in the creature beside him. Her red dress revealed so much more… Her black hair was falling over her shoulders sensually.. It reminded him of Pansy. His throat constricted.   
  
“Hello, captain. Long day?” Susan purred, touching his arm. He looked down at her lacquered fingers. A lighter color attracted his eyes beneath her hand.   
  
His breath caught in his throat.   
  
His eyes flew up.  _No_. This was  _not_  for him. Merlin! What would his  _mother_ say? He jerked his arm away from the lady. “Can I help you?”   
  
Susan smiled at him, going for the all knowing look. She leaned into his shoulder just as he was leaning back. Then he felt it. There was no mistaking the point of a dagger pushing through his shirt. “Now, Captain, why don’t you come with me and we can chat a little?”   
  
“No,” Ron growled.   
  
The dagger pierced into his skin. “I’m not playing games, captain. Outside, now.”   
  
Ron got up careful not to move too much. He didn’t fancy dying just now… or wait, did he? They walked out of the door and into the sprinkle. He noticed that the raindrops didn’t fall on her, they pebbled off, like there was some sort of force around her that kept her save from the little water missiles.   
  
“What do you want?” He asked to her, once they were out of sight of the bar.   
  
“I want to know where the King keeps his signet.”   
  
Ron stopped immediately, turning to her. “You’re not an extra.” Her question had given it away. The extras didn’t even know about the game. They were just here to make life more realistic.   
  
His comment took her by surprise. She said the only thing she could: “Neither are you.”   
  
“Who are you?”   
  
Susan smiled at him. “I’ll give you information, if you’ll give me information. A fair trade, don’t you think?”   
  
Ron pondered for a moment, as she twitted the dagger in her fingers. “What do you want to know?”   
  
“I already told you. You have three questions. I have five. Since I’m the lady, and all.”   
  
Ron narrowed his eyes. “Deal. I don‘t know. He usually has it with him, toying with it and such,” He answered. “Who are you?”   
  
“Any question but that.”   
  
“But you said--”   
  
“I’m throwing your life into the bargain,” She said, twirling the dagger pointedly.   
  
“Fine,” Ron gritted. “Are you a noble?”   
  
The girl threw him a slash of a smile. “Pirate.”   
  
Oh, that was definitely good news. He‘d be lucky to get out of this conversation alive! “Brilliant. Are you going to slash my throat when we’re done?”   
  
“Is that a question?”   
  
“No.” Merlin, but she was quick! He surveyed her again. “I’m supposing your name isn’t up for questioning?”   
  
She gave him a smirk. “ That would ruin all the fun now, wouldn’t it?”   
  
“Whose ship are you on?”   
  
“Captain Hell’s.”   
  
“Hermione’s? Oh, Merlin. Is she alright, is she--?”   
  
“I haven’t heard from her since she got killed.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“Do you love her?” Susan asked him, wanting to know.   
  
He shrugged his shoulders.  _Do I?_  Instantly, someone else’s face popped into mind. He tried vehemently to shake it away. “I’m not sure.”   
  
She raised a brow at him. “Any other questions? I know what I need to know.”   
  
“No. I know what I needed to know as well.”   
  
She gave him another slashed smile. “It’s not as bad as you think, Ron--”   
  
“Not a Slytherin.” She wouldn’t have called him by his first name. So she was on Hermione’s ship, not a Slytherin… what else could he get from her?   
  
“What?”   
  
“I said,” Ron replied, “You’re not a Slytherin. What’s your name?”   
  
Susan rolled her eyes. _Looks like I couldn’t pull if off after all._  “I’m not in Slytherin, big deal. If I was, I would have killed you by now.”   
  
“True,” Ron replied, brows furrowed. “I just want to know who you are.”   
  
She gave him a throaty laugh as she gave him a bow, flourishing with her dagger. “Doesn’t everyone?”   
  
He watched her walk away. He  _knew_  that voice.   
  
While he was thinking he heard something behind him. He didn’t even have time to turn around as a fierce pain blossomed on his temple. He never even remembered hitting the ground…   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Susan thought she heard something behind her, but it was probably Ron just walking away. She walked leisurely into the hotel, swinging her hips, she then gave a suggestive smile to the innkeeper. He winked at her, only to be slapped in the face by his wife that had just walked around the corner.   
  
Susan winced mentally as she walked up the stairs. She didn’t like what this outfit did to her. Suddenly, as she was walking up the stairs, a feeling of apprehension filled her. Her feet began to move quickly, and before she knew it she was running, almost tripping over her dress to get to her room.   
  
As soon as she was in front of the door, her hands fumbled for the necklace that had snuggled between her breasts. She pulled out the key, and jammed it into the lock…   
  
The door opened after a moment, and she rushed inside. Her hands went straight for the drawer with the false bottom. She ripped the piece of wood out, and then covered her mouth with horror.   
  
The black box was gone.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry sighed as the snitch flitted in between his fingers. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. Hermione’s ship, the Lioness, was off the radar, and Malfoy’s was no where to be seen. The ex-captain was going out to find whoever killed him, and well.. Well. It wasn’t good at all.   
  
Draco coming in to be a General was the most of his worries. He simply couldn’t have a person like that coming in and being under his command. He had to admit, it was slightly gratifying for once, but in all honesty, there wasn’t much he could do.   
  
What was he going to do, get his own ship, for mercies sake?   
  
Harry sighed again. Then there was that thing with Ron. Harry didn’t know what to do. How could he make it up to his best friend? Throw a ball for him, the best general ever to have served in Fliadopia?   
  
He sat up, ramrod in his seat. It was brilliant! Right after Hermione comes to save him from his wedding!   
  
 _Hermione._  
 _Hmmm._  He didn’t exactly know what to think about her. He didn’t know what to say at all. His mind had been haunted by her very memories. Perhaps it was because she was soon to become his savior. Maybe he wanted to be more than her friend.   
  
 _Ron._    
  
He couldn’t do that to Ron.  _Never._  
  
He sat back in his seat again, snitch closed in his fingers, struggling to get out. His fingers closed in tighter. One more thought hit him: What if Hermione knew how he felt. Would Ron matter then? If, by some miracle, Hermione felt the same about Harry as he did about her.....   
  
Ron didn't matter. The realization hit him like a flash. If that's what Hermione wanted, Ron would comply. He'd be out of sorts, but he would comply.  
  
Still, he didn't know if he could do that to his friends; Men's code and all.   
  
But  _Merlin,_  how he  _wanted_  to.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
“I don’t care how many whirlpools we have to go down, how many storms will rip our sails apart, just  _FIND HER_!” Draco shouted to his crew, hands begging him for permission to rip up the map in his hands.   
  
He created another copy of a Ship-ish map, and waterproofed it. It was raining hard, the drops falling into his eyes. The game just started, he realized as the wind whipped past his face. It was  _almost_  the same, he had to concede, as being a pirate. Minus the whole pants-too-tight, constricting, shiny uniforms to the stoic crew. Without even knowing it, he had lapsed into a freer world; it should have appalled him. The pirate clothes, not being able to bathe all the time… It was adapting, he told himself, but the thought still nagged him. The game was changing him- he would have a lot to return to when he would go back to Hogwarts when the game was over.   
  
But did he even have to go back? Could he remain forever free?   
  
The thunder crashed, and another wave swelled up, trying to knock the ship over. A deckhand rushed up the stairs, tripping several times on his way up trying to get to the captain.   
  
“Captain Malfoy!”   
  
“WHAT?” Draco shouted into the wind.   
  
“We need to said for less rough waters. We’re nearing a very dangerous spot in these waters. They’re be waterspouts out here, if there aren’t already!”   
  
And then he fell down the stairs.   
  
Draco didn’t care. He had to find her so that he could  _kill_ her. His blood roared for her death , he  _thirsted_  for her blood. He wanted to kill her slowly, cut her up into little pieces until she was begging him for mercy.   
  
That thought made him a little calmer. She would beg for mercy before he was done with her. She’d beg him to kill her. Oh yes, she would. That little infuriating Mudblood would scream for him, shout his name….   
  
He felt his lips curl into a smirk. He would enjoy it. Every last bit.  _And the best thing about it is, is that Potty won’t be there to save her. Not McGonagall, not Dumbledore, not that foolish Weasel, no one. She’d be mine to do as I pleased._  
The thought pleased him as well. He wanted to hear her cry.   
  
“CAPTAIN! THE SPOUTS!”   
  
“Shit!” Draco muttered under his breath. He had gotten distracted. His eyes flew to the area in front of the ship: Two huge waterspouts were looming above him, trying to threaten him, trying to intimidate him.   
  
He knew they were dangerous. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the best way to get out of here. He watched the spouts for a moment, realizing that they were moving much slower than he anticipated. There was an archway that they formed ever minute of so. He’d have to make it then.   
  
Going around them wasn’t an option, going through them was the equivalent of death… But he could go in-between them.   
  
He started shouting orders, loudly, but calmly. He had to show that he was in control.   
  
 _The only reason that you’re in this mess is the fact that you weren’t in control.._  a snide voice said in his head.   
  
He pushed it away, and focused. In that moment, he didn’t know who in the world Hermione Granger was. He was a captain of a ship, and he was saving the lives of his crew. Where this new form of humanitarism came from, he had no idea.   
  
Soon, the sails were out to their fullest potential, petals against the dark, storming sky. They strained against the ropes, but his crew was good. Maybe one of the best in Fliadopia. They’d make it.   
  
He turned the wheel sharply to the left, avoiding a wave that would have capsized them. This was beyond dangerous. The rain slapped into his face, his hair was plastered to his forehead. On his face was a look of pure determination. Stupid vortexes of water could not get the best of Draco Malfoy.   
  
Malfoy rule #1,256.   
  
Ok, so it wasn’t a rule, but it should be one, he thought, summing up his confidence. He was brimming with it; but not overflowing. He could do this. He had the knowledge to do it. He had been a pirate for Merlin’s sake! This was easy as pie!   
  
Or so he thought. The ship rocked and rocked as they got nearer to the area between the spouts. The waves were higher now, fighting the ship, trying to knock it over. Draco felt like a bug next to these spouts that reached the sky…   
  
One wave crashed over the ship; he watched stoically as several men went overboard. They were just extra’s, they didn’t matter.   
  
Then he was going between them. The ship was loosing a battle between the waves, loosing, fighting, wanting to be free….   
  
And then, it was over.   
  
The ship shot out from underneath the makeshift bridge, airborn by the wave that carried it. The were almost touching the sky. There was a light drizzle on this side of the spouts, but he could see the sun ripping away the clouds, wanting the spotlight.   
  
The warmth felt good on his skin. “How many did we lose?” He asked a uniform that walked up to him.   
  
“Thirteen.”   
  
Oh, joy. How lucky. “Give the order to clean up the deck, then get some rest. It’s been a long, hard day.”   
  
The man gave him a small smile, almost as if he felt it would have offended the captain and hurried to do his bidding.   
  
Draco leaned against the wheel, soaked to the bone. He knew he couldn’t rest until his crew had. He pulled out the map from his pocket, glad that he had thought to water proof it, and unrolled it, putting it on a soaked flat surface.   
  
What he saw sent a rush of anger, anticipation, and adrenaline through his body.   
  
There it was. His own ship in all of it’s full glory. It looked enchanting, a shadow on the horizon.   
  
Too bad he was about to blast it apart. His lips curled into a smirk. It was time to give the little mud blood a rude awakening. A  _very_  rude awakening.   
  
He could already hear her screaming his name…. 


	18. The Slytherin Effect

“Where did you put it Thaddius?” Susan asked accusingly, the dark alleyway light shrouding her face in darkness. The little bit of light in the alleyway glinted off the knife that she was pointing at him.   
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he whispered fiercely, hands clenched by his sides.   
  
“You were the only other person who knew where it was!” Susan exclaimed. “Why am I supposed to believe you?”   
  
He looked into her brown eyes. “Because we’re a  _team_. You’re supposed to  _trust_ me.”   
“I don’t trust anyone.”   
  
“What happened to the Hufflepuff side of you?” he shot back, anger slowly building up in his veins.   
  
“People change in this game,” Susan answered carefully. She could feel the tension rising in the air.   
  
“Stop quoting McGonagall like Granger and say something you for once!” He said, throwing his hands up into the air. “What happened to  _you_?”   
  
“I wasn’t supposed to be a bloody Hufflepuff!” Susan shouted into the night air. As soon as the words flew out of her mouth, she felt relief flood through her body. It was done.   
  
“ _What_?” Thaddius whispered into the air.   
  
Susan looked over his shoulder. “I was supposed to be a Slytherin.”   
  
The air suddenly turned colder. Thaddius refused to cross his arms and kept an open stance. He didn’t want to give her the impression that he didn’t want to listen… He really didn’t.   
  
“The sorting hat knew. It told me that it knew, and yet it told me that it wanted to keep me ’ _safe’_.” Susan spat the last word as if it was a curse. “It said that I didn’t have the strength to stand up to my dark side. Well look at me  _now_  stupid hat!” She yelled, laughing manically.   
  
Thaddius felt the urge to walk backwards, but stood firmly in his spot. He didn’t move. He watched her laugh, seeing the insanity in her eyes.   
  
“And then, after it called out ’Hufflepuff’ I was the school dunce. Isn’t that just  _peachy_?” Her brown eyes were glittering, mouth curled into a sneer.   
  
Thaddius shook his head slowly, sadly. “This isn’t you, Sooz.”   
  
“ _Yes_ , it _is_  me!” She hissed, taking a step closer. “I’m a _Slytherin_ , not a pathetic--”   
  
“Hufflepuffs are _not_  pathetic,” Thaddius said quietly, looking her dead on.   
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Susan flashed.   
  
“You’re a Hufflepuff, aren’t you?” Thaddius asked, voice calm.   
  
“NO.”   
  
“Then why were you sorted one?” He asked, almost rhetorically.   
  
“I already told you--”   
  
“Then why aren’t you prideful and haughty like the rest of them? Why did you give Blaise a chance? Why haven’t you _killed_  me yet?” He asked suddenly, the rage burning in his veins. He stepped closer to her, towering over her. He might have been one year younger her, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t just as mature. “Why is your name  _Susan Bones,_  and not some snooty name?”   
  
 _Oh, and that‘s a brilliant reason_! Susan narrowed her eyes up at him, “Because I--”   
  
Suddenly, before she could utter a single word, his lips caught her soft ones roughly as he backed her up against the wall, cutting off her speech. His hands were lightly grabbing her shoulders, but his lips were anything but gentle.   
  
 _Merlin,_  but she was on  _fire_. She reached her arms up to tangle in his hair, forgetting what they had been fighting about, forgetting who she was, forgetting where they were, forgetting how she was dressed….   
  
But as soon as it had started, it ended. He lifted his lips from hers and stepped away, eyes alive and shining in the pale lighting. “If you were Slytherin, you couldn’t kiss with passion.” He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and gave her one last look, lingering on her face. Then he and turned on his heel.   
  
Susan’s knees were weak against the wall. She slid down to the ground. She hadn’t been expecting this. She didn’t know that he.. That  _Thaddius_  of all people… no, it couldn’t be… Why had they gotten there in the first…   
  
 _The ship._    
  
Reality suddenly hit her like a merciless bucket of ice-cold water. Her lips were still bruised as the anger crept into her veins again. He had been _distracting_  her from the fact that he had stolen the ship! He made her betray herself…   
  
 _You were willing._  A small, snide voice said in her ear. She refused to listen to it.   
  
 _He took my by surprise,_  she reasoned.  _Blaise would have never…_    
  
 _Blaise._  Susan groaned as she waited for the guilt to wrack her body….   
  
But it never came.   
  
She scowled a moment later, disgusted with herself. She didn‘t even know  _who_  she was anymore. She bit her lip, debating what she was going to do. It wasn‘t right, by any means… But she was  _supposed_ to have been in Slytherin.   
  
That fact helped her pick in the end. She calmed her breathing, and pulled out a wand and the map in her pocket. She looked down at it and added a charm. A dot was added to the map of Fliadopia. Thaddius was headed to the castle.   
  
She bit her lip, and then decided to follow. After all, she didn’t trust anyone. And the people she was loyal to in this game would count on her not to.   
  
So, she didn’t. Her eyes followed his dot. It was time to see what darling Thaddius was up to. Now.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Ron was pretty sure that he was dead. Well, as sure as anyone could be sure that they were dead. There was no other explanation to the throbbing in his skull, threatening to break his head apart. A groan escaped his lips. Suddenly, this game wasn’t fun anymore. Someone was out to kill him.   
  
Wait…   
  
 _I’m not dead._  He groaned again. It’d be so much better for him to just die here and end up somewhere else. He tried to move, but then suddenly found that he couldn’t. Panic suddenly flood through his numb veins. He moved his hands around to find that they were tied together with a coarse rope. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids met cloth.   
  
This was  _not_  good.   
  
He tried to stand, but he couldn’t. He His waist had been tied to some post, hands wrapped around hit. His back was scratching against the rough, splintery wood of the pole. “Hmmmph---”   
  
He had been gagged.  _Well, I guess I’m not going anywhere_ , Ron thought sardonically. He was screwed at every angle. A mouse could probably come in there and de-man him and he couldn’t do a single sodding thing about it. A bloody  _mouse._    
  
Ron stopped trying to open his eyes and leaned against the pole. His wrists were sore, the skin was most likely a pinkish color from the chaffing. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so why not just sit there?   
  
 _There’s nothing else to do…_  
He strained to listen for any signs of movement, but couldn’t hear a single thing except for his own breathing. He tried to think of where he could be, but he wasn’t Hermione, so he quit. His brain could only stretch so far… But it was getting better.   
  
He must have been sitting there for over an hour, when he heard it. It was far away… the sound of footsteps were nearing, nearing.   
  
Suddenly, the door burst open, the crack of wood against stone wall shocked his ears, nearly deafening him. “Well, well, look what we have here.”  
  
 _Gee, I’d look, but I can’t bloody SEE!_  He heard the footsteps circle him. “Not so fierce now, are we?”   
  
The female voice crept into his ears sensually. He might have said hello, if he wasn’t gagged. Something nagged him though: He knew that voice. He  _knew_  it.. He remained silent, heart thundering in his chest. He was afraid that she could hear it, that it would give him away.   
  
He felt cold fingers touch his neck. He jerked forward-   
  
“Shh. Calm down, Weaselebee, I’m not going to hurt you….”   
  
 _Oh, Merlin…..no._    
  
“Yet.”   
  
Ron felt whatever color he had in his face, whatever anger he had at being tied up on a post, disappear. Now he was frightened. Of a girl no less- but this was no ordinary girl.   
  
The gag was taken off, leaving his mouth dry. “Parkinson,” he croaked, still blindfolded.   
  
“Good guess. You must be  _psychic,”_  he could hear the sneer in her voice. “But you’re right… surprisingly.”   
  
“What do you want?” He asked, voice raspy and hoarse.   
  
“Your head on a silver platter.”   
  
“Well,” Ron said, tilting his head, “I’d give it to you, but my hands are tied behind my back.”   
  
He felt a very cold, very sharp something touch his throat. “Or I could just  _take_  it myself,” Pansy said sharply into his ear.   
  
“Well, that wouldn’t be neat at all, would it?” Ron answered, trying to remain calm. “Wouldn’t you rather have someone  _give_  it to you, like a present? Rather than to just take it?”   
  
“Damn you, Ronald Weasley,” She cursed as she ripped her dagger through his blindfold.   
  
At first, he felt blinded, but it was something akin to just waking up; his eyes adjusted to the dark quickly. He took in his surroundings with a sharp glance. He was in an abandoned warehouse of some sort. There were scraps of lumber lying about, some cloth… He was in a ship barn. It wasn’t likely that there would have been anything that could have helped him from his predicament.   
  
He looked her over. She was a little different from the last time that he had seen her; from the last time that he had killed her. It was only a slight difference, but it was there all the same. One earring hung from her ear; it was a large silver hoop. How piratey.   
  
Her black hair was cut pixie-style. The edges cutting into her eyebrows. Her face was paler, edgier, sallow, more aristocratic. And then there was the crazy gleam in her bright green eyes….   
  
She had lost her mind. He could see it.   
  
“Parkinson, are you alright?”   
  
She leaned down and laughed softly. “You’re the one about to die, and you’re asking  _me_  if  _I’m_  alright? You’re a charm, Weasley, you really are.”   
  
Ron forced his heart to slow down. She was bloody serious about killing him. “So, you’re doing this for revenge, huh?” he asked, voice void of curiosity.   
  
“No, Ronald,” She said with sarcasm, “I’m doing it for the tooth-fairy.” She rolled her eyes, “Of  _course_  I’m doing it for revenge, why else?”  
  
 _A Slytherin to the core_ , Ron thought in an amusedly scared way. “You see I would have thought that you were smarter than tha--”   
  
Swift and deadly as a viper, her dagger was at his throat again. “Smarter than  _what_?” she hissed, green eyes blazing.   
  
Ron gulped, and bit back a hiss as he felt the blade pierce into his skin. He could feel a trickle of blood run down his neck. He had to step carefully, he had to be…  _Like Harry._  
The thought popped unbidden in his mind. It was almost like a torrent of emotions. Ron did everything that he could to keep the flood gates from opening. He couldn’t break down in front of her, he couldn’t cry, because she would think that he was crying because he was about to die. What would Hermione think?   
  
And that was what stopped the emotions. He would be strong for Hermione. He could do this. Think like Hermione. “Well,” he answered, taking a deep breath and shifting about to what felt like a more casual, indifferent position, “You can never be happy if you take revenge on someone. Neither can you set them free from what they did, in this case, I did to you. What you  _can_  do, however, is use them, or save them, for a favor. When the time comes, they have to pay up. If not, only  _then_  can you justly kill them. You’re a  _Slytherin_ ,” he said, as if it explained everything, “You’re  _supposed_  to use  _every_ situation to your best advantage. Unless you’re blinded by revenge--”   
  
“Be quiet,” Pansy said, with a calm, yet still angry voice. She was the biggest oxymoron that he had ever met. Not that he would tell her so. He watched as a pondering look came over her eyes; he instantly became more relaxed. A small thrill of happiness flooded his veins. He had done it!  
  
She turned away from him, tapping the dagger hilt against her lips, eyes expression wandering off into space. He took a deep breath. He had another chance to live. And he was pretty sure that he would do--   
  
“Alright. But only because you’ve convinced me,” She said, whirling around, the crazy look back in her eye.   
  
“Well, how can I help you?” Ron asked, voice calm. He was jaded, he was angst, and this seemed to be an outlet for his aggression.   
  
“I want you to help me kill Malfoy out of the game,” She answered with such vengeance that it made his toes curl. Her teeth were bared into a slashing grin.   
  
His brows raised. “I have no problem helping you do that, but can I ask why?”   
  
Pansy slashed his bonds and raised one brow at him, making her face impossible to read. She was trouble. Then, with a smile in her voice, she answered, “Well, you could say I have a little wager.”   
  
And then she filled him in on the plan. But never again, did she mention the wager.   
Too bad poor little Ron didn’t know that by doing what this new bombshell asked him too, he would hurt his poor Hermione. It was a shame that the fates of Fliadopia didn’t care a bit about his feelings.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
She had never been so unbelieving in her life. Her eyes went as big as saucers as she saw a ship blow through the two water spouts. It was a sodding  _miracle_ that she even saw it anyway. She had been angry, ticked even, at Theo’s arrival, and decided that having a staring competition with the horizon was the best way to go.   
  
And this is what it got her. “Hand me the spyglass,” Hermione said, voice lethal, to Theo, who was standing beside her. He was on ‘parole’, or so she called it. She wanted to make sure he knew how everything on a ship worked.   
  
With his aristocratically disheveled black hair, and cool amber eyes, he was certainly a delicious confection. He leaned behind her lazily, taking in her every move. He pulled a golden spyglass out of his belt and handed it over to her. She gave him a tight smile of thanks and looked into the spyglass, aiming it at the ship which was now heading towards them with purpose. This was not good, not good at all.   
  
She pulled out the glass a few notches, so she could see better. The ship before her was quiet ordinary; in fact, it looked like an extra ship off the harbor of Fliadopia. Maybe merchants? She could pillage it…   
  
She assessed the ship as it got closer in the glass; it was well armed, in fact….   
  
Oh no.  _Oh, no, no, no_ …. She snapped the spyglass shut, and whirled around to Theo. “Go tell Blaise that we’ve got company. Looks like the pirate catchers are after us.”   
  
He leaned off the wall and gave her a smirk. “Go do it yourself,” he answered lazily, but pushed off the pole anyway. He tossed his jet hair in the wind that was picking up and lazed down the stairs, every movement at ease. But his pace was quick, she could see that.   
  
“All men to the rigging!” Hermione shouted. “We’ve got company!”   
  
The energy suddenly picked up like the wind, and her crew was moving about in haste, trying to get things ready. Blaise’s dark skin drew her eye as he came flashing into view. He was by her side instantly. “Course of action?”   
  
Hermione looked him dead in the eye. “Would I be a pirate, to run away?”   
  
He threw her a grin. “I guess not. You wouldn’t be Captain Hell either if you did that. So we eradicate them, yeah?” He asked, a twinkle in his eyes. This was going to be fun.   
  
“That’s the plan,” Hermione answered, grabbing her own spyglass out of her pocket. “Take a look.”   
  
He took the glass from her hands and tried to adjusted.   
  
Hermione continued, “It has a side of canons, one that we’ll have to worry about, and then there’s the triads in the front, and then--”   
  
“Hermione,” Blaise interrupted, voice deadly calm.   
  
“There’s the--”   
  
“ _Hermione.”_    
  
This time, she heard the fatality in his voice. Suddenly, an odd fear gripped her. She took in his clenched jaw, his ebony skin looked paler than normal, and then there were his hands…. They were threatening to crush her spyglass. “What is it?” Hermione asked, struggling to remain calm.   
  
Blaise pulled the glass from his face, but he kept on looking at the ship, indecision mixed on his face. He held out the glass to her; his hand was trembling a little. She took it from him, hers trembling all the same. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it one bit.   
  
She put the spyglass to her eye and adjusted to focus. The first thing she saw was a bright head of pale blonde hair at the helm. And then she saw the pale, grey eyes….   
  
The spyglass clattered to the ground, her hand frozen in the air. She lowered it slowly, and then turned to Blaise. “Whose side are you on?” She rasped.   
  
“Yours, of course,” he answered quickly, but she knew. And he knew that she knew. She heard the indecision in his voice. Then the extremity of the situation hit her. She was on a ship, filled with Slytherins galore. If there was something that Slytherins didn’t know, it was honor or loyalty. But loyalty to a Malfoy was something completely different.   
  
“You don’t have to be,” Hermione said, picking up the spyglass and putting it in her pocket. She looked Blaise in his dark eyes. “Fight the extra’s. Leave Malfoy to me. After all, it’s me he’s after.”   
  
“But--”   
  
“No buts, Blaise,” She rebuked him harshly. “Even if I’m dying, stay away. I’ll deal with this on my own.” Hermione turned away from him, leaving him at the stern, and walked down the stairs. “ALL HANDS TO THE DECK!” She shouted. It took almost half a minute for the crew to assemble.   
  
She looked at them: she could see the want to fight in their faces. Too bad it would be gone soon. “So, either you shoot me, or you fight against this ship.”   
  
No one moved. She was going to have to try another avenue. “I suppose you all want to fight then?”   
  
The crew cheered. Hermione stood, feet apart, arms crossed. “Then I’m going to have to warn you. Draco Malfoy is captain of that ship.”   
  
The cheers died instantly.  _That’s what I thought_. “So, here’s your options. I know you all want to fight, so by all means, fight. The extras will take you if you don’t. But leave Malfoy to me. He's here for  _me._ To kill  _me._  You can say hi and hug him for all you want, but the choice is yours. Kill me before he can, or let him do it. Imagine how angry he'd be if you didn't let him do it himself... " She raised a brow at them, " It’ll be nothing personal if you leave him be. Convene amongst yourselves. Just let me know in half a minute.”   
  
Hermione turned away from them and went back up to the stern, hands behind her back, face impassive. “What did they decide?” Blaise asked.   
  
Hermione kept her eyes on the ship ahead. “I don’t know yet.”   
  
Silence stretched on for several moments. Theodore came up the stairs from the cluster of the crew and walked up to Hermione, and put a gun to your head. Hermione refused to close her eyes. She would be strong. “We’ve made our decision.” Theo’s voice was cold on her ear, almost as cold as the metal pressing into her temple. And then, it was gone. “We’ll fight, with  _you_. Loyalty to the captian and all that. The extra's will be history, but we refuse to raise a sword Malfoy, unless he provokes any of us. Even me. But I don't excpect that will happen. He's here to eradicate you.”   
  
Hermione turned to him, and give him a smile. A real genuine smile. Theodore put a hand in front of his face. “Yeesh, Granger. You’re blinding me!”   
  
Hermione closed her lips in a grin. “Thank you,” she whispered. " I needed the crew's support." She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing pulse. "You could have just killed me you know."  
  
He rolled his amber eyes. “Well, we figured we’d have some pity on you.”   
  
Hermione’s grin faded. “Oh trust me, I don’t need that. I’m not called 'Captain Hell' for nothing.”   
  
He raised a brow at her chilly tone. “So I’ve heard, so I’ve heard. But I soon shall see if it’s true, I guess.”   
  
Hermione raised a brow in return and crossed her arms. "I suppose you will.”   
  
She turned away from him and shouted orders. She needed everything top notch to win this battle. She had to win. There was no other option. Ropes were tightened at neck-breaking speeds, masts were unfurled for maximum velocity. They were moving fast, and Draco’s ship was getting closer and closer….   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes as the ship was only 10 meters away from the front of her own. “Get Ready!” She yelled, as it neared the side, “AIM!”, she shouted twisting the wheel so that the  _Silent Shadow_ ’s front plowed off some of the cannons of the other ship. She almost lost her footing with the ground.  _“FIRE!”_    
  
And then the whole world positively went  _boom_. Hermione flew away from the mast, pulling out her sword, and grabbing a spare from the case by the mast. She stumbled to catch her footing, but once she got it, she didn't loose it. She was driven. It was his time to die.   
  
Smoke filled the air, something had started burning… The sounds of courageous yells from around her filled the air. Swords were clashing in the afternoon light, the sun was a merry watcher. It would seem that they were it’s only entertainment for the day.   
  
Hermione plowed through several extra’s on her way down the stairs to the deck. She decided that killing extra’s was alright. They weren’t really people she knew, they were just… there.  _But Merlin, there are so many!_  Hermione bit her lip as she sliced through another extra. She almost stumbled across Theodore’s slashing sword. He threw her a grin as he pierced a hole in an extra‘s chest. Hermione resisted the urge to puke and plowed on. She hadn’t stumbled on any of her own yet… So far, so good.   
  
Her eyes flitted around for that familiar head of blonde hair that infuriated her so much.  _Where the hell is --_    
  
A loud thump met her ears as someone landed right in front of her with the grace of a cat. A rope flew away from where the two feet had landed. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but was cut short.   
  
 _Think of the devil, and he shall appear._    
  
And did he make an appearance. He was even more beautiful today than he had ever been. His hair was slicked back and parted to the side, his grey uniform buttoned up to the top. The medals on the side gleamed in the air. His face was without the sheen of sweat; it must have been water defiant. His grey eyes were alive in the smoke and the action. And then, with a regal movement that only he could perform, Draco pulled out his cutlass with a metallic ring and held it out in front of him with a flourish. “Mudblood.”   
  
Hermione held her own out, eyes narrowed. “ _Pureblood_ ,” she spat back, adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was time for the festivities to begin.   
  
He tapped her sword with his own, a smirk gracing his seductive lips. She hated him with a passion!   
  
“I simply  _adore_ how you can make it sound like an insult, Granger. It’s a feat that I’m sure no one else can accomplish but you.” It was amusing, that was for sure.   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And I suppose you think I should take that as a compliment and say 'thank you'.” Her muscles tensed. She was ready for what was coming. She could do this. She was Hermione Granger, Captain Hell… She could win. She had to win.  
  
He raised a brow. “As it happens, I’m a fan of show, and not tell. I want to hear you scream my name, and beg me for mercy when I’m cutting you to ribbons.” His words moved around his trademark smirk. A mischevious gleam shone his eyes. “That would be enough 'thanks' for me.”   
  
“Well, then it’s a shame to inform you that I’m not the screaming type.”   
  
Draco sighed dramatically, but his eyes were brimming with vengeance. “Oh, I’m so  _terribly_  disappointed. Tell me, Granger, do you remember the last time we danced?”   
  
Hermione hit her sword against his and slashed at him. He jumped back and twisted her sword with his own and pushed up against it, bringing them face to face, brow raised. He had almost taken him by surprise. Clever, clever girl.   
  
Hermione smirked, honey eyes wintry. A stray curl fell into her face, her cheeks were flushed pink. “I’m afraid it wasn’t very memorable. So why don’t you _remind_   _me_?” She asked, twisting away from him. Her sword met his mid air as their swords clashed. He went for her side- she went for his heart. He blocked her and shoved her sword away. Merlin, but he was  _strong._    
  
'Remind me,' she had said... If that wasn't a challenge, he didn't know what was...  _But to take her up on it, or to not.. Hmmm..._    
  
Draco didn’t move for a moment, as his eyes bored into hers. “Actually, I think I’m going to teach you a new one,” he replied, and then pushed away, meeting her sword for another couple thrusts and parries. Sparks flew into the air as the swords strained to hack the other down…   
  
“Oh,  _really?”_  Hermione shouted as her hair came loose and a cannon went off. She lunged and met his sword. “What was wrong with the tango from last time?”   
  
He stopped for a moment, and the smirk fell off of his face. Suddenly, his whole expression became chilling. It sent shivers down her spine. “ _Because_ , Granger,” he answered stepping towards her with purpose. “I’m in a  _salsa_  mood today.”   
  
Hermione refused to take a step back. She blew her hair out of her eyes and clenched her jaw. “Well, that's  _great,_ then. I’ll bring the chips.”   
  
Suddenly, an amused quirk of his lips appeared as his gaze bored into hers. “That’s good, because I’m hungry.”   
  
Hermione laughed suddenly, a sound that rippled across the ship. Suddenly, the air became much more optimistic. She looked him in the grey eyes with a quirky grin on her face and tapped her sword with his.   
  
He looked at her face as a grin spread over it. And then, she did the last thing that he expected her to… She  _laughed._  The sound bloomed in his chest, he felt his own lips quirking into a smile. Even with her overlarge eyes, shining with anticipation, her hair frizzed, and her being a _Mudblood_ , she looked…. Striking. That was all. His eyes roved over her ecstatic face, her smile, her eyes, her lips… He felt… strange, somehow. And then those lips moved. Those soft, pink, lips....  
  
“You  _do_  realize how absurd this conversation is, right?” She said with another rippling laugh, showing her near perfect teeth.   
  
That sound again… It was infectious. Did she know what she was doing?!? It was enticing. He wanted to laugh too, he felt it, he wanted to smile too, wanted to kiss--  
   
And then he flipped the switch. ‘   
  
Hermione saw it happen right in front of her eyes. Just as the ice was beginning to thaw, it froze over in his eyes with such speed, that it was hard to tell if it had ever began thawing in the first place… But she had seen it, she was sure she had…   
  
He narrowed his eyes at her. The fun and games were over. “Well then, I guess it’s time to start the meal. I hope you like being the appetizer.”   
  
Hermione stepped back warily, muscles tense and reading to spring. “As long as you like being the dessert.”   
  
He flashed her a slash of a smile, teeth stark even against his pale skin. “Always, Granger, with a cherry on top.”   
  
Suddenly, the conversation was over. The air crackled with energy. Neither moved.   
  
And then, without words, they lunged for each other.   
  
The feast had begun, and  it was anyone’s guess as to who would get to use the multi-colored toothpicks at the end of the day… 


	19. Steeled Hearts

“So, how did you get here?” Ron asked Pansy as he leaned against the open window of the abandoned town house. He rubbed his wrists together, feeling the small sores on them from when he had been trying to get away. He looked at the girl standing beside him, still slightly curious about what she was really up to.   
  
He hated her. He could feel it in his blood. She was everything he was supposed to be. Yet, he was her polar opposite. She was royal, he was a traitor. She was a pirate, he was general. He was Ron Weasley. She was Pansy Parkinson.   
  
She looked ragged and tired, he observed. He could tell that the strong pretense was exactly what it was: a pretense. She was exhausted. He could have assumed that she hadn’t slept in a regular bed for a while, and he would have been right.   
  
“Well, I was on Malfoy’s ship, and I did something that the captain didn’t particularly like.” A corner of her lip lifted, and she tossed him a look. “So I got put in the brig. Technically, I’m not even supposed to be here. You killed me, as you--”   
  
“I know,” Ron said, crossing his arms. “Hence my debt to you.”   
  
Pansy gave a small nod. “Touche.”   
  
For a moment, everything was silent. Their plan had been laid out. It was all just a matter of time before Draco came back, and then their plan could be set into motion. It was a devious plan, something that must have taken Pansy a while to cook up, Ron had mused. But then again, she ’s a Slytherin. It’s what they do.   
  
“I got back to the castle, fuming, as you could well imagine. And well, I wasn’t to be admitted back into the game. I was hung as a pirate. By all rights I was out for good. I got sent back to my dormitories immediately, and as you can imagine, it got boring really quick.” She shrugged lightly. “So I wrote a letter to my parents the next day, and they sent me a vial of Dragon Blood. McGonagall was conveniently bed ridden the next day, and Snape let me back in. Simple, efficient--”   
  
“Cunning, devious, and completely Slytherin,” Ron finished for her. “You all really aren’t as complex as you make yourselves to be.”   
  
“It’s about time someone figured that out.” Pansy sighed, and pushed away from the window and walked back into the bare room.   
  
“Your family is just a little messed up is all. You can’t help how you were raised.”   
  
“I wouldn’t change it either,” Pansy shot back, suddenly defensive again. Story time was over, apparently. Ron didn’t question. He was at her mercy, and like they say, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman, a Slytherin woman, scorned.’   
  
“Alright, Weasley-”   
  
“It’s Ron.”   
  
“Weasley--”   
  
Ron crossed his arms and looked her dead on. “If you want me to help you, you’re going to call me Ron. Yes, I killed you, and for that I deserve your wariness and respect. Of course, I would never ask you to call me Mr. Weasley. I think just ‘Ron’ should do.” His grey blue gaze met hers hardy.   
  
She stared back for a moment, clenching her jaw. “ _Fine,_  Ronald, _" s_ he gritted. "Happy, now?”   
  
He grinned into her furious green eyes. “Yeah. I am.”   
  
“You know you’re not really in the position to negotiate, right?” Pansy asked, voice angry.   
  
“Yeah. I know that too.” Ron sighed. “You were saying?”   
  
Pansy looked away from him for a moment to reach down into her pocked. She pulled out a little black box and looked up at him, a sudden, sly look creeping on to her face. She tossed the little box up into the air, and caught it nimbly.   
  
“What is that?” Ron asked, looking pointedly at the box. It had to be  _something_  significant. _Else wise, she wouldn’t be treating it like a bouncy ball. Slytherins, trying to be so… so…”_ Well,?” he asked, when she didn’t reply the first time.   
  
Pansy smirked, lush lips curving. She had bait, he was a fish. This was just _too_  easy….   
  
“Now,  _Ronald_ , wouldn’t you just  _love_  to know?”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione didn’t even have time to blink as Draco rushed towards her, a look of pure determination on his face. He wasn’t relaxed this time, he wasn’t playing around. This time, he really would  _kill_  her. He didn’t have any reason not to.   
  
Hermione barely had time to deflect his blow as she danced away and her steel met his steel. She turned around, arm throbbing, and took a lunge at him, but immediately she knew: she was on the defensive.   
  
Her hair flew into her face: That wasn’t good. She couldn’t afford any distractions, none.  _So, I’ll have to make some for him._  It was the only way to get even. She needed to get him somewhere so that she could put her hair up.   
  
She almost laughed at the absurdity. Here she was, worried about her  _hair_ , when there was a bastard who wanted to kill her right in front of her.  How  _girly._  
She side stepped another blow warily and slashed back, biting her lip. They twirled backwards, meeting shoulder to shoulder, blades above their heads, almost like they were dancing.   
  
For a moment, they just stared into the others eyes. His lips lifted into a grin. “You know, I never thought I’d find you again.”   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes and broke the hold of their swords above and slashed towards his stomach. “Yeah,” she gritted sarcastically as she fended off another of his impossibly strong blows. “I missed you, too,  _obviously_.” Her tone was sarcastic.   
  
“No, really,” Draco answered, his stance becoming more relaxed. That wasn’t good at all. He was at his  _best_  like this, Hermione reasoned. Draco just lifted his lip in a smirk at her and kept going, “It was pureblood luck that you were just sitting there,” he stepped back from a blow to his shoulder and deflected it, sparks flying into the air, “like the little Mudblood duck that you are.”   
  
“Stop,” Hermione said quietly, slashing at him, “calling me,” she rushed at him again, cutting a hole in his shirt, “a Mudblood!” She spat, catching his sword at the hilt.   
  
“Let me think about that,” Draco said, freeing his sword with a strong twist, “Hmm...No.”   
  
Hermione bit her lip and cut at him again. Suddenly, their maneuvers were speeding up, leaving no time for chit chat. She dove in, weaving, twisting, trying to find that one opening that would allow her to have him at her mercy…   
  
Draco twisted away from her biting steel. He wasn’t scraped yet, and he didn’t want that to change any time soon. His brow furrowed slightly as the pace picked up. She wasn’t leaving him any time to insult her… Pity. It was just so much fun. He blocked another of her blows, noticing that the more that she stayed on the offensive, her lunges got weaker…   
  
He stepped away for a moment; he could feel the sweat beading on his back. He looked at her with a smirk. “Take a second to catch your breath, Granger. I’m not ready for you yet.”   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes; sweat was beading on her forehead. She could feel it waiting to trickle into her eyes. She reached up and wiped it off. “I don’t need a respite.”   
  
Draco lifted a perfect blonde brow, that disappeared into his long bangs. “Well, I’m giving you one. So deal with it.”   
  
Hermione shot him a glare, and took his ’gift.’ Keeping her peripherals on him, she looked around, listening to the yells, the metallic twang of cutlass hitting swords, gunshots, cannons… Yet she and Malfoy had their own little circle. She looked at the point of her fury: Draco Malfoy stood before her, skin shining slightly in the smoky air. His white blonde hair was mussed. It had grown since the last time that she had seen him, hanging into his now, hot grey eyes. His face seemed to have gotten slightly more hollow, his cheekbones more pronounced. His lips were twisted into that smirk as a snake of anger reared up in her body. She didn‘t think before she spoke this time, she just let it all out….   
  
“I hate you,” Hermione whispered into the air, honey eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why I put up with you. I hate your smirk, your stupid blonde hair, your ridiculous pureblood standards, your  _name_. Where I’m concerned, you’re just another extra, here to torture me to death.”   
  
Suddenly, his good mood vanished. Here he was, looking forward to a fight… And now he thirsted for one. His blood roared through his veins, the scar in his back was throbbing lightly. “If you hated me so much, you would have shot me in the cabin.”   
  
His cold, calm voice cut to her soul.Something about it confused her. It didn't make any sense... "You're wrong," Hermione said and then raised a brow, mouth twisting in a sneer. “I would have shot you gladly, had Parkinson not beat me to it.”   
  
Draco took a step towards her, their circle going with them. His eyes were gauged on hers, refusing to let go. He held her in a virtual cage, and he wasn’t going to unlock it for just a moment. This moment was his. “You know what, Granger? I don’t think you would have,” He said, eyes still locked with hers. “You’re too nice to have done that.”   
  
For a moment, he thought he had her pinned. Her personality, her very essence. He thought he had corked up in a little genie bottle; his to do with what he wished. His delusions were broken in sheer milli-seconds when he felt a sharp heat blossom on his arm. He felt the blood trickling down his arm before he saw it. “Why you little witch!” Draco hissed at her, after looking at the cut. It was deeper than he expected it to have been. She had really hurt him; she drew his blood.   
  
“I just wanted to see if your blood was  _pure,_ ” Hermione hissed, jaw clenched. “But I can see that--”   
  
“ _Shut up,_ " Draco rasped, stepping up to her and grasping her arms, blade against her arm, pointing up into the air. “You want to fight, Granger?” He asked her, cool breath fanning her face. He grasped her tighter and shook her violently. “Do you?”   
  
Hermione struggled to keep her eyes on his as he shook her. She narrowed her honey eyes as she watch his lips ask a question. “Do  _you_?” Hermione retorted, struggling to get away. She jerked one arm free, and then pried his fingers away with her free hand and freed her other arm.   
  
He stepped back from her and put his sword in front of him, eyes dangerously cold. “I won’t show any mercy this time.”   
  
“Mercy?” Hermione barked out a laugh. “You don’t even know what that is.”   
  
He tapped her sword with his. “By the time I‘m through with you, you’re going to wish that I did.”   
  
Steel flashed in the air, sparks flew from the clang, fleeing the sharp, deadly steel. They danced around each other, parrying one for one, a block for any attack. They were relentless, moving in a blur, so fast that it was hard to know exactly what was going on.   
  
Hermione did her best to keep her eye on his moving steel. His fighting was so unconventional. He had no particular style, stuck to no particular rhythm. He was dangerous, unpredictable, but he was smooth as a snake. The thought made her grin slightly, but that little bit of amusement was lost in his next attack.   
His blade roared after hers, and before she could help it, she made an opening. She cried out as his steel sank into her elbow. She bit her lip till it bled and leaned backwards to find that she was right in front of the mast. She leaned back into the wood and looked at Draco, who was standing there, face not even flushed. A cold, merciless sneer was perched on his lips. Merciless.   
  
He took a step forward, an insult on his mouth, but it stopped. He watched as she slowly, painfully, with a gasp, transferred her sword from her right hand to her left. He watched her bite her lip as a small tear fled from the corner of her eye…  _She wouldn’t.._  
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, to compose herself, to separate herself from the pain in her arm. She couldn’t let it stop her. She willed herself to carry on. She braced the sword in her left arm and got ready to fight. “Bring it on, Malfoy,” she said with strength. She wasn’t going to let him beat her. But he saw the length of steel that she held in her hand waver…   
  
Hermione looked him in the eye, knowing that she was toast, yet trying to be ignorant of that fact. She held the cutlass as steady as she could, trying to distract him and make up a plan… quickly. Her eyes locked with his. His grey eyes were indecipherable, his brows furrowed in an expression that she couldn’t decipher. Then, he was a blur. In a movement that she barely registered, he pulled his wand from inside his coat and pointed it at her elbow. A spell flew from his lips.   
  
Hermione cried out as heat licked the cut that he had given her. She felt the skin sewing itself back together. The muscle mending. She bit her lip as the fire raced through her elbow.   
  
“Now, put your damned sword in your fighting hand, and fight me,” Draco snarled, hitting her sword from her dumb left hand and to the ground.   
  
“Why are you doing this?“ Hermione asked. There was no reply. His grey eyes cut into hers, unreadable.   
  
A rush of fear flooded through Hermione’s person. What lengths would he go to kill her on fair terms? Keeping her eyes on him, she bent down warily and picked up her sword. She was barely upright as his sword came crashing down towards hers.   
  
Hermione hastily blocked his, and leapt back, only to be attacked again. Block, block, block, _block_. Hermione kept on blocking, on the defense. His sword was a blur, she could barely see it coming until it was almost too late. He had already slashed of lock of her hair from her face, which made her slightly angry, and caused her to slash his shirt open, making a small scratch. Unluckily for her, she also bared alot of his chest.  
  
So much for trying to create distractions for him. She was singlehandedly bringing herself down.   
  
Hermione reared back as a cannon crashed into the deck behind her. She flailed out luckily, and blocked a blow that was aimed for her neck. She regained her footing and cut for him, her first offensive move in the last twenty. And he slashed it away as if it was just a mere fly on his Sunday breakfast. She slashed again, this time forcing him backwards. She had been on the defensive for ages, it was his turn.   
  
With every step she took, their moves were getting faster, more complex, harder to keep up with. She shook her hair from her face, and closed in for the kill. Block, Slash, Block, Cut…. Sweat beaded down her back, tickling her back.  _How much longer can we do this?_  Hermione thought, catching another blow.  
  
He didn’t even wince as her sword cut a hole in his shirt: turnabout seemed to be fair play. He sidestepped on of her blows, and with a risky move, he stepped closer and wrapped his sword around hers, bringing them hilt to hilt. “You can’t win, Granger.”   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes onto his. “You’re delusional.”   
  
“I’m  _right_.”   
  
They glared into each others eyes for one, long, heated moment. His eyes traced her features. He was so close that he could see the honey flecks in her wide eyes, the freckles adorning her little nose. Sheer determination in the form of sweat made her hair stick to her forehead. She was breathing hard, he noticed, and so was he. Later he wouldn’t remember if it he wanted to, or if was impulse: his eyes narrowed on her parted lips, and suddenly, he was on fire…   
  
Hermione breathed hard, keeping her eyes locked on his, refusing to submit, when his cold gaze left her eyes cruelly, and lowered to her mouth. _NO!_  Hermione thought angrily.  _He is not going to distract me like this again!_  With a loud yell Hermione pulled back her sword just as he slashed his own away in suprise.   
  
There was a breath of a moment that passed, and then, staring each other in the eye, they dove for the other’s heart. Time stopped in their little circle. It seemed that all of the sudden, the noise stopped, and all eyes were on them.   
  
Hermione glared at him over the piercing metal that he stabbed in her breast. The pain was threatening to engulf her body in white hot flames. He glared back, blood seeping down the front of his shirt, her steel biting at his heart. Neither of them let go of their handles. With an estranged cry, Hermione pushed forward, determined that he died first. He would have none of it. Without wincing as the sword pushed further through his body, he stepped for ward, shoving his own through her heart and twisting it. "Scream my name, Granger."  
  
"No," she gasped, trying to hold on to her consciousness.  
  
He twisted it again. "Scream."   
  
" _Never,"_  Hermione bit back at him, looking him in the eye. He twisted it some more.  
  
Hermione gasped in pain, eyes going hazy. He took a further step, until they were chest to chest, and their hands were touching where they hand their sword handles and he twisted his free arm around her waist and pulled her even closer, watching as the tears formed in her eyes, and angrily, he watched her force them back. She shoved her handle in even more, hoping he would just disappear, but it didn‘t happen. Tears didn’t even form in his eyes. He was a cold, ruthless, heartless statue, and his cold grey eyes threatened to hold her forever in their frigid embrace.  _One last try,_  Draco thought, ignoring his own pain. He twisted it just a bit, but she didn't even wince. She just raised a brow at him.   
  
Neither said a word, they just locked furious, scolding gazes, refusing to budge. Just when Hermione thought that she had no more strength, she felt him waver as well. His grey eyes possesed a storm of heat that she didn't understand; his gaze bored into hers. But she didn't give in. She _wouldn't._  
He glared into her eyes, furious at her refusal. He  _needed_  to hear her say his name. He  _had_ to hear it. Just once. "Say my first name, Granger."  
  
"I won't let you win. I can't. "  She conveniently didn't say his name. Never would again, and he knew it.  
  
Then, with hands still on the sword that impaled the heart of the other, they disappeared together in a striking flash of blue. 


	20. Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire...

Tumbling, they fell into the sunlit Great Hall, cutlasses cluttering to the floor in front of them. Hermione winced as the cold, stone floor scraped her palms. For a moment neither moved, they just stared at each other sideways on the floor. Then, as if someone pulled a switch, they leaped up, and faced each other. The air was misty, enchanting. They didn’t even look at it. For all they cared, it had better get out of the bloody way, because there was a storm coming… A nice, dandy, verbal Gryffindor vs. Slytherin storm. Luckily, the window panes had acquired ‘ear plugs’ and might could rest in peace…. For now.   
  
“You bloody Mudblood witch!" Draco exclaimed angrily.  
  
 _Oh no. Here we go,_  Hermione though wryly.  
  
"I can’t believe  _you_  bloody killed  _me_!” Draco said loudly. “A Malfoy! And to be killed by  _you_ , a _Mudblood_ , of all the  _bloody_  things.”   
  
“Why should I  _not_  be surprised?” Hermione said scathingly, tightening her belt buckle. “There you are, all high and mighty, and underestimating me yet  _again. Priceless_.” She stood there with her hands on her hips. “When will you ever learn that history repeats itself? I thought that _Purebloods_  never make the same mistake twice.”   
  
Draco stood stock still, like a statue. He stood, blood roaring, as she skirted around saying his name, first, last, or else wise. He noticed, by Merlin, did he notice. It was driving him mad. “I didn’t underestimate you,” Draco hissed quietly. “I took you at face value.”   
  
“Which is exactly like judging a book by it’s cover,” Hermione spat back, disgusted.   
  
“Merlin forbid,” Draco muttered under his breath.   
  
Hermione scoffed at him, outraged. “You want to know what you’re worth at face value, ferret? Absolutely  _nothing_.”   
  
Draco stood quietly, taking in her accusations. “I’m not a book.”   
  
“Everyone has a story,” Hermione answered back, spreading her feet to shoulder width apart and crossed her arms. “But yours isn’t even worth reading.”   
  
“Merlin, you’re such a judgmental cow!” Draco said, anger finally beginning to boil to the surface. “Who do you think you are? God? I hate to break this to you, Granger,” he snapped, “but you’re not. You think you’re better than everyone else, but here’s another shocker,  _you’re not_.” He took a step closer so that he was an arm’s length away. “You think you’re better than me, but, hey, guess what? You’re not.”   
  
“And you’re supposedly better than me?” She snorted.   
  
Draco simply smirked at her. “Damn right, I am,” he answered, leaning against the teacher’s table. Why stand when you don’t have to?   
  
Hermione stood, staring at the boy before her, mouth open. _How could he even…_  She opened her mouth several times like a fish to speak, but no words came out. She raised her hand once and pointed at him, but then put it back down. “You really think so, don’t you?” She asked, in a disgusted awe.   
  
“I  _know_  so,” Draco said, seating himself on the table’s edge. “I’m a pureblood, and that’s all that you need to know to know that I’m better than you.”   
  
“Everybody bleeds the same, in case you didn’t notice,” Hermione shot back, still standing. She wasn’t about to ask him to share the bloody table with her. Merlin forbid her muddy germs say hello to his obnoxious ones.   
  
“Except for you and me. My blood-”   
  
“Is  _red._  Like mine,” Hermione threw back, done with this conversation. “You are a human, like me. We are both magical, and the same stupid blood runs through our veins keeping us alive, and yet, you still have the gall to think that you are better than me. We are equal, Ma--”   
  
He raised a brow at her. She shut her mouth. “What was that last word, Granger?”   
  
“Nothing,” Hermione answered stubbornly, titling up her chin.   
  
“We’re not equal,” He said, nonchalantly.   
  
“Why do you think so?” Hermione said. “Give me one good reason,” she said, cheeks flushed. She took a step closer to him.   
  
“Because you want me.”   
  
As soon as he said the words, he wished he could have taken them back. For the life of him, he didn’t know what had made him say those words. But then, all of the sudden he realized that it would be alright. Her flustered expression was totally worth it.   
  
“I…. I  _what_?” Hermione stuttered, surprised.   
  
He smirked at her. “You  _want_  me. And I don’t want you. Simple, really.”   
  
“You’re lying,” Hermione said in disbelief, eyes agog.  
  
“I  _definitely_ don’t want you, Granger, if that's what you're insinuating,” He said, spitefully. He raised an eyebrow and pulled out his wand from his pocket and twirled it around my fingers. “ But I’m flattered by your attentions, really. But why don’t you just keep them to yourself?”   
  
“I don’t want you,” Hermione gritted, gaining her bearings. She shook her head to clear her mind. “You’re delusional.”   
  
His flashed her an amused smirk. “I’m  _right_.”   
  
She choked on her words, realizing that he said the same thing earlier. She had said the same thing earlier. “You’re wrong.”   
  
“You’re the delusional one, Granger,” He said, getting up from him position and putting his two feet on the ground and stretched lazily. Hermione gulped as her eyes followed several of the cuts in his shirt. Her mouth went dry as she watched the muscles ripple under the makeshift covers. Her eyes flew up to his knowing ones. He simply smirked at her, noticing her attentions. “You’re the liar.”   
  
Hermione gasped angrily and turned from him, making a move to march off. Suddenly, she was jerked back by the hand that grasped her wrist. He pulled her into him, hand splayed on her back. “You want me to show you just how much you want me?”   
  
“Stop doing this,” Hermione gasped, breathless. The feelings in her body weren’t making any sense to her. They were illogical, didn’t make any sense. She hated him. Suddenly, the ring on her finger began burning with intensity. She gasped out loud.   
  
“Do you really want me to?” Draco asked her, brow raised and a merciless smirk on his lips. He lowered his nose to hers. “Your breath is shallow, Granger. You’re panting. Do you really want me _that_ bad?”   
  
Hermione turned her head to the side, so that his nose grazed her cheek. “Never,” she whispered.   
  
“Liar,” Draco rasped, tangling one hand in her hair, and the other bringing her flush against his hard body. “You want me.”   
  
Hermione glared into his grey eyes. “You’re crazy! Deliusional! MAD! How could I  _ever_  want you?”   
  
“You want multiple choice, or short answer? We could even go for a True or False.”   
  
Hermione bit her lip. “Let go of me, Ma-”   
  
“Ah, ah,  _ah.”_  Draco smirked at her, eyes boring into hers, only inches away. “Resist the temptation.”   
  
“You don’t tempt me!” Hermione gritted, trying to pull away. She struggled, but to no avail. “I bloody  _hate_  you,” Hermione whispered. These, apparently, though, were the wrong words to say.   
  
“Show me how much,” Draco said, mouth dangerously close to hers. “Show me how much you hate me.”   
  
His grey eyes were boring into hers, reading the script of her soul. He was so close. Too close…. “How?” Hermione asked, dazedly perplexed. She was hot, far too hot…   
  
He held her tighter against him and leaned past her mouth and bit her ear. His cheek touched hers as he whispered hotly in her ear, “Kiss me.”   
  
Suddenly, the ring on her finger burned dangerously, and she gasped. His warm breath tickled her ear and made her shiver. He brought his head back, and took in her face. His eyes narrowed on her dazed honey ones with intensity. “Do it, Granger,” he whispered, mouth nearly touching hers.   
  
 _The bet.. Oh, Merlin!_  
  
“Just lean forward,” he instructed quietly, forehead resting on hers. They were pressed tightly together, hip to hip. “Just a little bit, Granger.  _Make_ me hate you back.”   
  
He had thrown down the gauntlet. Form a moment, she thought she was leaning in, for a moment... And then she realized he was a snake. He was manipulating her using her Gryffindor traits...   
  
But Merlin, she.... no, she couldn't want to. The ring on her finger burned insistantly. Hermione resisted the urge to bite her lip, and looked into his dark eyes. She couldn’t kiss him.  _He_ had to kiss  _her_. But could she ask him? A hot laughter filled her blood. The  _absurdity_ of having to ask a Slytherin for something...  
  
Suddenly, that laughter changed to anger that flooded her being, and her wounded pride reared up. She was in the arms of her enemy, and here he was, telling her to bloody  _kiss_ him. She’d rather tell all of Hogwarts she wore poodle underwear rather than to do that. She narrowed her eyes at his, but he wasn’t looking at her eyes… His eyes were focused on her lips, and he was leaning in closer. Grey eyes filled with intensity...  
  
“Malfoy…?”   
  
She didn't have to finish her question. He knew what she was asking. He wasn't going to give her an answer.  
  
His lips were a hair’s breadth away, when his eyes shot back to hers. The expression in them turned her ablaze. She felt the rush of head transfer from his eyes to her body, and it thrilled through her veins. Suddenly, she was rising up to meet his lips, rising… rising…  _almost there…._  
BAM!   
  
The doors flew open, startling the two individuals. Draco pushed Hermione away like fire. He took his intense gaze from her confused one and focused on the figure entering the room.   
  
Professor McGonagall walked into the sunlit room, looking at the students with measured curiosity. She took in Hermione’s flushed, angry face, and Draco’s cold, guarded one.  _Hmmm_. “So, you two killed each other, I presume?”   
  
“You presume correctly,” Draco answered nonchalantly. He threw over a smirk at the professor. “How you came to that conclusion, I don’t have a clue.”   
  
The professor waved his comment away. “And what of it, Ms. Granger?”   
  
Hermione looked at the professor with careful eyes.  _What kind of question is that?_  “He’s telling the truth,” she said, and then, suddenly wished she hadn’t.   
  
“Am I really now?” Draco asked with fake surprise. “And here I thought I was a  _liar,_ ” he drawled lazily, raising a brow. She could hear the double meaning in his tone. He was mocking her. He manipulated her into feeling things she didn’t want to feel.   
  
Hermione threw an angry glance at the boy that had, once again, perched on the table. He sat, nonchalant, relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She seethed inwardly at his apparent calm.   
  
“That’s what you get for thinking,  _Malfoy_ ,” Hermione answered, almost forgetting that the Professor was there.   
  
“You just said my name,” Draco stated, smirk curling even more.   
  
“And what of it?” Hermione threw back, crossing her arms.   
  
He just looked at her, gaze triumphant. He discarded her question and asked one of his own. “So, since I’m not a liar, what I said earlier was true?” He asked, an amused expression on his face, but his eyes… something about his eyes..   
  
“No, you manipulative jerk,” Hermione answered, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “ But as far as you’re not lying  _now_  goes, Gee, I don’t know how you managed it, Malfoy, but you went from vile sinner to holy priest in a whopping thirty seconds. You must be a  _god_.”   
  
Draco raised a brow at her. “I might just be--”   
  
“Enough,” The McGonagall said. “I would like one of you to be mature and let me know what happened.”   
  
Hermione threw a glance at Draco, “Well, if he wasn’t such a pompous behind-”   
  
“If she wasn’t such a liar-”   
  
“Oh, so I’m the liar?--”   
  
“Well, it’s definitely not me-”   
  
“And who made you the judge of that?” Hermione bristled.   
  
“I’m a god, remember?” Draco smirked.   
  
Hermione gritted her teeth and clenched her hands by her sides. “He’s a masochistic, manipulative, manner-less pig!” Hermione growled.   
  
Draco looked over at the headmistress, innocence plastered on his face. “As you can see, Professor, Ms. Granger seems to have an anger problem. Perhaps she should enlist for some aid in that area?”   
  
 _“I_  have the anger problem?” Hermione fumed, looking at Draco with disbelief. “ _Me_? HA! You’re the one who started this whole mess in the first place with your sexist quips and obsession to hurl your standards in my face all the time and your complete belief that you‘re better than the world.  _Honestly_ , and you think _I_  have issues.”   
  
“Gods don’t have issues,” Draco answered, offhandedly. He twirled his wand through his fingers, fighting to keep the grin off his face.   
  
“UURRGGH!” Hermione threw her hands up into the air and then turned to the headmistress. “Professor,” She said, and then took a very, very deep breath. “Do you think you can just sort us now? I don’t think I can take much more of this.”   
  
The professor stood there with crossed arms. “Obviously both of you have issues that you need to fix with each other. Perhaps I should leave you here for a night and let you sort them out.”   
  
“Now  _that_ ,” Draco drawled with a charming grin, “Will only end in tragedy. As you can see, Professor, neither of us can be in the company of the other without wanting to kill the other. It’s a  _great idea_ , to be sure, but it has more cons than pro’s.”   
  
The headmistress narrowed her eyes at the student. “You may be able to manipulate others, Mr. Malfoy, but I do not belong in that category. However, I will have mercy on the window panes, and sort you back into the game. I believe this is strike two for both of you?”   
  
Hermione glared at Draco. “Yes, Professor. It is.”   
  
Draco raised a brow at her. “It’s not my fault you’re a murderer.”   
  
Hermione bit her lip tightly and grasped her wand in her pocket.  _Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…._  
“Mental,” Draco muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.   
  
Hermione bit her tongue until it bled. “If you will, Professor?” Hermione asked, mouth tasting like iron.   
  
McGonagall looked at the two, and sighed.  _Hopeless. They are utterly hopeless_. “Very well, Ms. Granger. Follow me.”   
  
Hermione clenched her hands as she walked by Draco. She heard his silent laugh, and did her best to brush it off. She walked over to the silver doors with the headmistress. “You’re going to be a lady in Fliadopia. Mayhap then you will learn some manners and calm down!” She opened the door for Hermione, who felt humiliation seep through her body. “I’m sorry, Professor.”   
  
The woman looked at the girl through glasses. “It’s quite alright, Ms. Granger. Make the best of what you can where you’re going. I wish you luck.” She gave Hermione a small smile as Hermione made her way though the door.   
  
She had taken her first step into the portal when a cold dread flooded her body. She turned around quickly, to see Draco’s triumphant face through the doorway. “Wait!--”   
  
But the door was shut. As Hermione spiraled through the portal, the cold feeling refused to leave her body. He knew where to find her. He knew what she was going to be. If that wasn’t bad, the only thing that made it worse was the fact that she had no bloody idea what he was going to be and he was going to do with that information.   
  
For the first time, Hermione felt the lingering fear run through her veins. Death would not come quickly this time. No, this time it was courting her with black roses and a dagger. And when death’s last name is Malfoy, it never loses…. 


	21. Schemes, Screwy Politics, and... Sewing?

Welcome back to a world of intrigue, screwy politics, and table forks that are used daily as attemptive eye gougers. Where the ladies are beautiful, the alcohol is good, the men are handsome, and nothing is ever found wanting. Unless you’re an extra, and who the heck cares about those? You guessed it! The one, the only, Fliadopia.   
  
If one would have passed through Fliadopia at any other given time, they would have found the city to be exceptionally nice, yet calm and relaxing. This week, however, the city was buzzing with whispers and shouts of glory. The dressers’ was always packed with ladies who wanted to find something _super_  special to wear, the bakeries filled with orders, the shoe-man out of shoes, and so on and so forth.   
  
Only two things could bring this change about: A ball, or a wedding.   
  
Merlin save Fliadopia, because both were going to happen in the next three days. Three days was a long time in standard Fliadopia days, but with all the excitement, the days were going to fly by like nothing!   
  
The streets were filled with pedestrians, merchants, kids laughing and playing in the streets, dodging carriages of the wealthy nobles. When the Horseman made way, however, everyone moved. He rode quickly on a black steed through the streets, black cape billowing in the wind. He was the royal message deliverer and could kill someone, and then sleep like a baby the night after. No one messed with him.   
  
The children stared with wide eyes as he galloped through the streets. He paused for a moment to toss one of the kids a coin, and then he galloped up a large winding road the Castle.   
  
The Castle was light, despite the medieval timing. The village was right next to it, and, as most castles do, it had a little town in the inside of it’s expansive walls. It was a maze in and of itself, unless you had lived there a long time. Nobles knew where the niches were and Duke’s sons and the maids snogged face in little niches hidden everywhere, and no one was the wiser.   
  
It was dark in the broom cupboard. Yes, castles too, had broom cupboards, and surprisingly spacious ones. The couple couldn’t see anything, but they didn’t really have to. They fumbled in the darkness, gasping. A white hand tangled in a boy’s dark brown hair, while his was tracing down her arm. She sighed for more, and he kissed her gentler, sweeter...   
  
Cho Chang came up for air, looking at the boy in the dim light in front of her. “We shouldn’t be doing this before the wedding.” She felt flushed, happier than she had been since Cedric passed away.  _How he would have loved to be here…._  But this was wrong in Fliadopia. At Hogwarts, perhaps, it was OK. But Cho didn’t feel like getting beheaded anytime for treason soon. Not that she thought that Harry would actually go that far to condemn her for her lust, but she was quite sure that the extra’s would…   
  
Neville looked at Cho and sighed, shaking his head. “You should just tell him to call it off. He’s Harry. He’ll understand.”   
  
“I can’t!” Cho whispered furiously through kiss-swollen lips. She ran a hand through her mussed hair that had been plaited just hours before. The maids were going to have a cow! “The extras--”   
  
“Will listen to Harry,” Neville finished for her. He pulled out his wand , whispered a lumos and then set it on one of the many shelves lining the room. After the war, Neville had gotten over his fright, but he was still the same old Neville. He just stood up to people more. He took a step back and gestured for Cho to turn around.   
  
“No they won’t. They’re stubborn and--”   
  
“Shh,” Neville implored, taking her hair into his hands. He ran his fingers through it several times, and then began to plait it himself. Gotta love having grandmothers who make you learn  _everything_. Not that he would tell anyone, but Neville was a champion knitter. He used to sell scarves for pocket change. But that was a secret that would go with him to the grave. And by to the grave, I mean under the tombstone. Really, no one would like to die with the words “Here lies Neville, the knitter’ on their obituary. It would be downright embarrassing.   
  
“I don’t understand why you won’t just go to him about it,” Neville muttered.   
  
Cho’s shoulders rose up and down with a sigh. “I can’t say no to a king.”   
  
Neville let out a frustrated breath. “He’s just Harry! He’ll understand!”   
  
“And they’re extras that outnumber us, Neville,” Cho answered fiercely. “They could even kill Harry if they wanted too.”   
  
She no longer spoke of Harry with a wistful look in her eyes, he noticed. It was as if she were talking about him as a regular person. Almost a stranger, even. And yet, she still wouldn’t break it off with him, as if she couldn’t let him go. It confused Neville to little bits of cheese, and boy, did that make him mad.   
  
“It shouldn’t matter,” he said fiercely, in the same tone he had used in first year with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. His ‘mean voice’ rarely ever saw the light.   
  
“But it  _does,”_  Cho answered, meeting his eye. Obviously, his mean voice had no effect on her. She tied the sash of her dress and buttoned the top buttons of her chemise. Her hair looked just the way it had before, the dress perfect. Everything looked good, except for her lips. Those were a little mussed up.   
  
Neville let out a groan of frustration. “Why can’t you just agree with me for once?”   
  
Cho looked at the boy turned man before her. His hair was falling into his eyes rather handsomely, and his face had lost much of the baby fat that it had retained for the longest time, baring angles on his face that were very, very attractive. She sighed, and reached up a hand that cupped his cheek. “He’s my friend--”   
  
“And I’m a platypus,” Neville bit out before she could say anything. His brown eyes were furious. The whole situation was beyond ridiculous. Here was the only girl that he truly felt comfortable with, and she was blowing him off for… Harry Potter. This couldn’t get much worse.   
  
“Shh,” Cho scolded gently, putting one finger to his lips. She gave him a smile. “But you’re  _my_  platypus, and that better never change,” She said, and then stepped out the cupboard, leaving Neville to sulk in the darkness.   
  
He ran a hand through his hair, and then over his face. “Women,” he muttered under his breath, and stepped out the door into the light.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Susan rubbed her eyes, tired. Thaddius had disappeared without a trace. She had looked for him all night, doing whatever she could to trace him, but it was no use. The boy was like a wisp of smoke. She thought she’d see him in the shadows, but by the time she got there, there was nothing to be seen. He was nowhere to be seen. She had long since changed into a shirt and breeches, and retired to her room, closing the windows to the afternoon light. Darkness. Silence. They were all she needed. Susan closed her eyes again, and fell into a dreamless sleep…   
  
Thaddius peeked at her through the window and sighed at her sleeping form and wondered why she couldn’t trust him… He closed the window just as her eyelids began to fluttered again, and walked out into the afternoon rays. He was walking down the street, when plain as day, someone grabbed him from behind.   
  
He opened his mouth to speak when he heard a very harsh, very… feminine, voice whisper in his ear. “Tell me where Granger is, and I won’t hurt your new squeeze.”   
  
Thaddius struggled for a moment, but then went lax when a very, very cold, sharp blade was pressed against his neck. He watched, eyes shocked, as extra’s walked by as calmly as they pleased. “Why can’t they see?” He asked, voice frustrated.   
  
“They only see what their eyes expect them to see,” the girl said.   
  
“And obviously that isn’t you killing me in the middle of broad daylight,” Thaddius snapped.   
  
“Very good,” the girl said, and released him. Something about her voice was so familiar. He turned around and he gasped at what he saw. “You’re kidding me, right?”   
  
Pansy arched a brow at him. “Not in the least.” Her blade was still pointed at his heart. “Here’s your ultimatum. Tell me where Granger is, and your Hufflepuff squeeze won’t die.”   
  
“You have no right--”   
  
She stepped forward and pricked his chest through his shirt with her knife. It could have split hairs. “I have every right that you can possible imagine.”   
  
“You won’t touch her,” Thaddius growled, unmoving, unflinching as the knife flicked and drew blood.   
  
“Ah, so you do have feelings for her,” Pansy said, raising a dark, perfectly manicured brow. They were too outwardly perfect, he realized. It was almost amusing, the lengths that they went to look so untouchable, so superior. “How do you know I’m not doing this just for your own benefit. Maybe I’m making you believe only what I want you to believe.”   
  
“As if--”   
  
“Let him go, Pansy.”   
  
The voice was unmistakable. There was no way that Thaddius didn’t know that voice, no way that Pansy didn’t know that voice either. They had both spent considerable time with him.   
  
“Keep your sticky fingers out of this, Blaise,” Pansy hissed, throwing her black, raven hair back from her face.  
  
He gave her a wan smile and pulled out a musket, aiming at her heart. “Looks like all the pirates are congregating here. What ever could be the occasion?”   
  
“Gee, I don’t know,” Pansy said, green acid eyes filled with caution, then they lit up with an ingeious fire. With a movement that was barely seen by the naked human eye, a dagger was suddenly in Pansy’s hand and slicing through the air to Blaise’s heart.   
  
He stepped to the side and plucked it from the air, careful not to touch the blade. Merlin only knew what she had tipped it with this time. “My death would have been a splendid occasion, in case that’s the even you were trying to convey to me. However, invariably, I have obviously delayed it. Your death, however, would seem a cause of celebration, don’t you think?” With those words, he cocked the pistol back.   
  
Simultaneously, in a great rush of movement, Pansy pushed Thaddius in front of her, and ran.   
  
Her luck was with her when she heard a shot being fired, just after she had pushed. A gasp of pain told her all that she needed to know. For a moment, she relaxed. Then, rapid footfalls came up from behind her. She threw a look over her shoulder, and her adrenaline spiked up.   
  
Looked like Blaise wasn’t as compassionate as she thought.   
  
Pansy took off running, Blaise hot on her heels.   
  
Now would be a great time not to run out of breath.   
  
Blaise shot a healing spell at Thaddius as he ran after Pansy. He heard his sigh of relief and know he had preformed it well. Being the son of a Death Eater had it’s props. Well, the son of an ex-death eater, anyway.   
  
He ran faster, hot on her heels. They were nearing a corner, and he strove faster, but he simply couldn’t close any space between them. She was about ten paces in front of him, running like a gazelle that was about to be eaten. A very,  _very_  fast gazelle.   
  
For a moment, she was out of his sight, just as she turned the corner. When he turned the corner, however, he saw the last thing he expected to see.   
  
An empty dead end, with no Pansy in sight.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Pansy swore and worshiped her own luck as she ducked through the hidden tunnel in the wall. She had barely made it in time to twist the wooden section of the wall covered with stone on one side, get inside the new opening, and close it before Blaise had gotten there. It had gotten very close. Too bloody close.   
  
She picked her way though the darkness, feeling her way though the underground of the city. These places were long forgotten. It was a city built on a city. She could destroy Fliadopia from within, if only she had the number of people. She could do this, surely, it couldn’t be so hard. She certainly entertained the idea.   
  
After about thirteen minutes of cutting through the darkness and taking a path through various tunnels that split off from each other, she reached a door. She cracked it open.   
“I was waiting for you,” Ron said, not moving from where he was. Then he turned and saw her flushed face. “What is it?”   
  
“Nothing,” Pansy replied, unflinchingly. “I went out for a run. I need to keep in shape.”   
  
“To have enough stamina to run away?” Ron asked.   
  
Pansy crossed her arms. “Don’t be absurd, Ronald.”   
  
“I’m not absurd.”   
  
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Moot point.” She strolled over to a shelf with several scrolls on it, took one out and unfurled. “I’ve got a mission for you.”   
  
“A mission, now, really?” Ron asked, curious.   
  
Pansy rolled her eyes. “No, I was teasing you, you sodding Gryffindor.”   
  
Ron’s eyes narrowed. “Anything else to say about my house, Parkinson?”   
  
“No Weasley. Besides, I still hold your life in my hands.”   
  
“Dear Merlin, and one of the has a broken nail. I feel robbed.”   
  
Pansy took a deep breath and counted to ten. Her eyes snapped open. “You’re coming with me.  _Now_.”   
  
“Oh I’ll be the judge of ---”   
  
The murderous look in her eyes shut his mouth for him. This was not good.. Not good at all.   
  


* * *

  
  
"You have to be nice to him,” Pansy hissed from beneath her cloak, and shoved Ron into the castle library, who protested, “ You don’t even know what the word nice even  _means_ \--“   
  
He turned back towards her to argue, but she was already gone. He sighed in frustration. In a bloody library with Harry was the last place that he wanted to be.   
  
This is what arguing with a Slytherin got him. A very attractive one, at that. But really, if there had been  _anything_ other than this… He would have done it.   
  
Or so he’d like to think. He glanced around the room and at once spotted his friend. Somehow, Harry had this aurora of goodness around him that just made you feel better. Instantly, Ron felt his tense muscles relaxing. He almost even felt a tug of a smile on his face.   
  
Harry looked up from the book in front of him quizzically, feeling someone’s gaze resting on him. His eyes scanned the room then fell on Ron. “Oh, hi Ron.”   
  
Ron stood awkwardly. “Hi, Harry.”   
  
Neither said anything for a moment. Harry, being the dominant personality in their friendship sighed. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a prick to you.”   
  
Ron nodded, yet said nothing.   
  
“And about the whole Hermione thing. That was… not what you though it was.”   
  
Still nothing.   
  
“And I’d really like it if you’d stop acting like Crookshanks, and be my friend.”   
  
Ron tried to hold back the grin, he really,  _really,_  did. But it was too powerful. His smile lit up the room as he walked out to his friend, hand outstretched. Harry took it, and pulled him into a hug. “Good to have you back, Ron.”   
  
“It’s good to be back, Harry.”   
  
The great thing about friends is, is that even with all the spats and such, underneath it all, they’re still friends. They have a basic foundation that can never be shaken. They say that jealousy can tear friends apart, but friends say that it puts them closer together afterwards. If they trust each other, that is. Which might not even be the issue. But that was the issue with Ron and Harry.   
  
Ron opened his lips to ask what Pansy had told him to ask, but he knew, somehow, he knew already, that he couldn’t do what she wanted. He closed his mouth. He wasn’t going to ruin his friendship. He would not. For a moment, he felt brave, he felt like a Gryffindor.   
  
There’d just be hell to pay afterwards.   
  
And a question to ask. But was he really that afraid to die here? He thought about the flash of blue that he saw when Pansy died. He sighed. Maybe it was worth it. He turned his back on the shadows and looked at Harry. “Do you want to go out to eat?”   
  
Harry looked up at his suddenly friendly friend, a silly grin on his face. Maybe it would all go back to normal. With Ron here, everything was safe. Everything was going to be alright. “Sure.”   
  
Ron felt a sigh of relief. It wasn’t exactly, ‘No, you fool,’ but hey… it was a start. How he’d explain it to Pansy, he didn’t know. He’d just… improvise. Make it up as he went along.   
  
Yeah. That sounded brilliant.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
The bundle in the middle of the bed sighed contentedly and burrowed further into the sheets. The bed was shrouded by a canopy of curtains; the room was flooded with light, fighting to get into the space of darkness that encased the bed. The occupant, however was not even aware of the war between light and darkness that was taking place around her.   
  
The first thing that she heard was the birds chirping. It was a beautiful sound. A very beautiful sound. Hermione sighed contentedly and burrowed further into the darkness. For once, her parents had let her sleep in. It was nice of them. Was it a Saturday?   
  
She turned over, feeling the silk of her nightgown slide against her skin. She felt… sensuous. She sighed, relaxed and let her eyes flutter closed again, and began to drift off into another dream.   
  
Drift. Wait. Hermione’s eyes shot open, sleep gone. Drift. Why wasn’t she rocking? She rubbed her eyes and took in her surrounded. It was dark, there was fabric everywhere.   
  
She heard footsteps outside the fabric wall. She scrambled on the feather mattress for a stick, as sword, anything. Biting her lip, she faced to the hand that was fumbling to open the curtains surrounding the bed. She laid back down, slowly, and closed her eyes. Perhaps the playing dead attempt would work.   
  
“M’lady, It’s time to get up.” The curtains were flung open, light piercing her eyes. And then, the words that were just spoken processed through her head.   
  
 _Lady? What the--_  Hermione shot up in bed and out the curtain as the memories flooded back to her mind. Malfoy, dying, the almost …. She jumped out of bed to land smack dab in front of a mirror. The girl looking back at her… Shoot, she wasn’t a girl anymore. Her hair was plaited into a braid, her nightgown revealed more than it covered. She looked..   
  
“M’lady, are you alright?”   
  
She gaped at the frills. Her hair was braided. The gown was frilly. She was… a lady. She ran a hand over her face. There were no traces of pirate. Zero. Except for the ‘X’ shaped scar on her cheek. The one over her heart was gone. Apparently, McGonagall had taken care of that herself. This was… When the headmistress took things into her own hands…   
  
“You have sewing in half an hour. Would you like me to help you get dressed?”   
  
 _Sewing?_  She would be ... _sewing_  ....while Malfoy was looking out to kill her. Rage filled her. That was worse than being a mouse to a cat. She was a sodding lady to his pirate. She wasn’t allowed to fight, she wasn’t aloud to even look at ships, hold a sword, feel the salty water of the ocean slap her face, she had to.. She gaped at the maid, dressed in a nice little gown, waiting on her, expecting her to say something   
  
She had a  _maid_ , and … sewing. Sodding  _sewing_. McGonagall wasn’t kidding. Not in the slightest.   
  
 _Sewing._  With a needle, and thread, and basket and everything.   
  
Merlin, this was tragic. Bad. Horrible! But seriosuly….   
  
 _Sewing?_    
  
Hermione looked into the mirror, and words slipped out before she could stop them. “Bloody hell.” 


	22. Two Nights and Tonight

Hermione walked down the hall, trying to breath.  _This corset is too tight_. And the only reason it was tight, she knew, was the two words she had said earlier. Apparently,  _‘Bloody Hell’_  wasn’t the cheeriest of expressions here. From the maids expression, someone would have thought she had just committed treason! And not she was paying by slowly suffocating to death. Gotta love those extras!   
  
She breathed in shallowly, feeling slightly woozy. She turned to her maid, who was scowling at her. “Lady Granger, could you  _please_  walk like a lady!”   
  
“I’m  _trying_!” Hermione gritted.   
  
“No, you not,” the maid said calmly, accent heavy.   
  
“Yes, I--”   
  
“Da man voice to intimidate t'will not work.” The maid spoke again, her English slightly broken.  
   
Hermione couldn’t place her accent. Then again, she was in a world that didn’t really even exist. Why should she be surprised? “Could you  _please_ \--”   
  
The maid shot her a look. “If you ask me  _one more time_  to fix your corset, M’Lady, I will take you for switching. And don’t think I won’t!”   
  
Hermione turned away angrily as she repeated mentally.  _And don’t think I won’t._  Hermione made a face as the she whined the words in her head. The maid shot her a look. “ _What_?” Hermione asked, frustrated, throwing her hands into the air.   
  
The maid walked up to her, strictly, causing Hermione to step back. Surely she wouldn’t be paddled for saying one little word. One little measly four lettered word at that. She had to get a new maid. At once. This one was--   
  
 _Oh, what am I thinking?_  Hermione shook herself mentally. She was a sodding  _pirate_. She would not let this little witch of a maid bully her around.   
  
The maid took a firm hold of Hermione’s shoulders, “Shoulders back! Chin up!” A finger rudely shoved her chin in the northern direction, “Breasts forward, and  _glide_.”   
  
 _Breasts forward? BREASTS? What?_  Hermione felt like a duck. An awkward duck.  _I don’t even have breasts!_ She looked down. Ok, maybe she had a little, but not enough to push out. And glide? How was she supposed to sodding glide in the little heeled contraptions from purgatory on her feet? Sure, they were nicer than the devil’s shoes in the muggle word that had pencils for support. Still, these mad her teeter-totter. Did Hermione ever mention she had a heels-phobia? She could feel a blister forming already.  _One foot in front of the other, One foot in front of--_    
  
Her chin was pushed up again, with a disgruntled sound from the maid. Hermione bit back a growl. She turned around, huffed up, ready to let all hell break loose from her lips, when her maid suddenly smiled. “Very good, Lady Granger.”   
  
Hermione wanted to scream really loudly into a pillow. Or a rug. Or anything that was avaliable.  _WHAT?_  The whole ‘letting chaos reign and not care who dies’ idea had been a good one. Until now. She looked into the approving eyes of her maid, and pushed the anger back. She couldn’t blow up at someone who had just complimented her. Then she realized why she was complimented.   
  
Her body was being held proudly, for the first time in layered dress. She stood taller, as if she was a judge about to give judgment. Her anger did that. Hermione looked away from the maid and continued forward, trying to suppress her emotions. They walked silently, Hermione doing her best to glide like a swan on a lake, and the maid walking silently beside.   
  
Hermione walked submissively, bested by the little maid with the non-existent accent who wasn’t even real.   
  
Pathetic, that’s what this was. And she was about to have to sodding _sew_. This was a problem. A really hugely huge problem.   
  
“Did you know king getting married in three day?” The maid asked with her accent, pulling Hermione out of her reverie.   
  
“No, I didn’t,” Hermione answered after thinking about it for a moment. She lied. Only because she needed more information. Screw her morals. She was a pirate at heart anyway. Wolf in sheep’s clothing, and all that jazz.  
  
“Well,” The maid said, “He is getting hitched ta’ Lady Chang. She will be the ‘Keepa of da Signet.”   
  
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. She stopped the maid with one hand. “The keeper of that what?”   
  
“The Signet,” the maid answered confused. “Only the bride will be ever able ta’ touch da Signet. The king has sworn on it. He has it protected by a riddle.”   
  
Hermione cursed under her breath, causing her maid to get red in the face.  _Screw the maid._  If anyone who knew Hermione had been there at that moment, they could have heard her mind’s gears whirring. She had to stop this. She had to.. She had to..   
  
Hermione looked at her maid. “Three days, you say?”   
  
Her maid nodded, still confused, but slightly angry. “Tonight and two days. T’will be in the morning. Now shush!” The maid ordered, pulling Hermione’s shoulders back. “You is late for sewing.”   
  
She pushed Hermione down the hallway and up to a door.   
  
She stood outside for a moment. Laughter came from it, but that…  _That couldn’t be._  Hermione’s brows furrowed as she went through the doorway, and instantly, all chatter therein stopped. Hermione raised her brows at the girls inside. Cho looked her up and down, eyes narrowing, Luna looked at her blankly, the Patil twins looked agog, and…  _“Ginny?”_  
Hermione’s face lit up like a light bulb as Ginny threw her sewing to the floor and smashed her with a Weasley hug that she learned from her brothers. “Hermione!” The voice came from somewhere in her hair. Hermione laughed as the held hands and stepped back.   
  
Hermione looked into her best friend-that-was-a-girl’s eyes. “When did you get here?” She asked, unbelievable joy flooding her veins. Her life was coming back together. She was near Ron, Harry, and  _Ginny!_  
  
Ginny smiled. “Mum let me back and I came in just this morning! I didn’t know you were a lady.” She said the last word with a crinkle in her nose. _Looks like I’m not the only one._  
“I wasn’t,” Hermione replied as her maid motioned for her to sit down. Hermione looked at the basket from her nightmares sitting by the little quaint chair. Then she looked at Ginny, who was probably also convinced that needles were torture devices made only Merlin knew where (which is probably true.) “No, thank you. Lady Weasley and I have things to discuss.”   
  
When the maid gave her a furious glare, she added demurely, “Alone.” With that word, she link her arm with Ginny’s and they walked out of the room, suppressing their laughter until they were well away. Ginny pulled Hermione into the courtyard with a rose fountain and they sat down on a bench, laughing. “Did you see her _face?”_  Hermione asked, gasping and holding her stomach.  _Stupid corset._    
  
Ginny grinned widely. “Oh, did I ever!”   
  
The two girls laughed for several more moments, and then finished with little smiles on their faces. Ginny looked at Hermione, eyes ablaze with curiosity. “How did you die?” Her voice was eager to know. She leaned forward to hear Hermione speak.   
  
“How’d you know?” Hermione asked, puzzled.   
  
“Well, you were a pirate this morning, and now it’s afternoon.” Ginny’s eyes went up and down Hermione’s profile, taking in the light blue dress and the braided hair. “Obviously, not a Pirate now.”   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “It was stupid.”   
  
“No, no, tell me!” Ginny pleaded, grabbing a hold of some of Hermione’s dress. She gave Hermione a puppy look that only Fred and George could do better (things are always more spectacular in two-s).   
  
Hermione tried resisting. She really did. “Malfoy.” Hermione officially sucks at ‘trying’. It was do it, or no. And with Ginny, well… Life gets interesting. Hermione just had no idea how painfully interesting it would get.   
  
“WHAT?” Ginny squealed, eyes open wide. “What happened?”   
  
“Well, we got into a fight,” Hermione said with mirth.   
  
“Hermione Granger? A fight? Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” Ginny asked, straightening her pink gown with a curious smile on her lips. “Tell me more!”   
  
Hermione then, had a very difficult decision to make. To tell, or not to tell? She quickly weighted the consequences, then opened her mouth to speak. “Our ships met up and we fought. That was it. I really haven’t seen him other than that.”   
  
She lied. To her best friend. What happened to virtue? She shoved the thought away. She wasn’t going to admit things she didn’t feel. And why she and Malfoy were at each other’s throats she didn’t even know. Hermione struggled to keep her face nonchalant.   
  
“You’re not telling me something.” Ginny picked it up instantly. Apparently, having a billion brothers who loved to lie and make stories was not lost on her.   
  
“You’re right,” Hermione answered, pulling a ‘tired face’, “I’m just  _angry._  I should have beat him.” She looked at Ginny sympathetically. “I gave him another reason to think that ‘Mudbloods are scum, and Purebloods are awesome.’”   
  
Ginny looked at her for a moment, and then sighed. “You should have won.”   
  
Hermione felt the anger rise in her. “I should have. But I didn’t.” She didn’t say anything more. Then, it occurred to her. “Ginny.”   
  
“Mhmm?”   
  
“You’ve been here long enough to know the gossip, right?”   
  
Ginny raised her brow. “I was in a room with the Patil twins. Of course I know everything that’s going on.”   
  
“Do you know about Harry--”   
  
“He’s holding a ball tonight!” Ginny exclaimed, a broad smile on her face. “It’s going to be wonderful.”   
  
Hermione struggled to keep her face glowing.  _She doesn’t know,_  Hermione realized. “You realize he’s getting married, right?”   
  
Ginny’s laughing ceased immediately, her brows furrowing. “What did you say?” She asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder, a small smile playing on her lips. “I could have sworn that you just said Harry was getting married.”   
  
Hermione bit her lip, not knowing what to say. “I.. he… The extra’s are forcing him to get married. In three days. Most likely to Cho Chang.” She looked at Ginny’s wide eyes. “I’m sorry.”   
  
For a moment, it looked like Ginny was going to cry. Then, Hermione saw the fury behind the tears. Ginny stood up from the bench and began to pace. “Why that backstabbing little  _witch_!” She exclaimed. “Who does she think she is, anyway? Didn’t she know that it was  _over_? Harry and I, we.. We--,” she bit back a gulp, eyes suddenly overflowing. She looked at Hermione with wide eyes, red hair in disarray. “You’ve got to help me.”   
  
Hermione looked at her with what she hoped was a comforting look and wrapped her arms around her friend. “I’ll see what I can do.”   
  
Hermione patted Ginny’s back, consoling her, while her mind was whirring. The question that she had now, was Ginny’s appearance going to help her, or just ruin it all?   
  
After all, she had to get the snitch.   
  
About five minutes later, Ginny gave Hermione a watery smile. “What should I do?” She asked Hermione.   
  
The brown eyed girl shrugged. “He’s just doing his duty. He’s not marrying her for love you know. And it’s not even a real marriage.”   
  
“I’d rather him marry you than her,” Ginny spat out vehemently.   
  
Hermione gave her a smile as a curl of uneasiness unwrapped in her stomach. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”   
  
For some strange reason, she had the feeling that Ginny wasn’t so far off the mark. But then again, Hermione Granger never did good in Divination.   
  
That was her only relief.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Thaddius woke up with a goose egg on his head. He groaned and opened his eyes, wincing as the light shafted right into his eyes.   
  
“Finally! You’re awake!”   
  
A familiar voice shredded his mind to pieces. He moaned and lifted a hand to his eyes to shield them from the infernal light. “Turn that darn light off!”   
  
He heard a low, husky laugh. “I can’t turn the sun off, Thadds. Open your eyes, come on. It can’t be that bad.”   
  
 _Actually, it can._  He opened his eyes to honey brown ones. “Susan?” he asked, voice dry.   
  
“Water?” she asked him, hearing the parched vocal chords screaming for moisture. He looked around as he sat up. He found himself in the hotel room where he had been watching her sleep.   
  
Almost instantly, there was a cold cup in his hand, and the cold water was pouring down his throat. He drank it all in a single gulp. He felt twenty times better. He raised a hand to run it through his hair nervously, when his fingers brushed against the huge bruise on his forehead.   
  
“That’s not the only place you got hurt,” Susan conceded, touching his chest. His… his bare chest.   
  
Suddenly, the world came into pristine focus as a rush of head and a prickling awareness ran through his body. “What are you doing?” he asked, breath ragged for some unbeknownst reason.   
  
Susan gave a small laugh. “I’m saving your life. You got shot. I saw everything. Blaise is looking for Pansy right now.”   
  
“Blaise.” His voice was clipped. He should have been grateful, but he knew that Susan had a soft spot for the bloke. He didn’t like that at all.   
  
“Yes. He’s the only reason you’re alive. He shot a healing spell at you before running after Pansy. He carried you over and then went back out to find Pansy. He lost her.” He noticed that she spoke of him with admiration in her voice. Her eyes were glazed over. It rankled him to no end. Blaise was the hero, always the hero.   
  
He grimaced as her fingers prodded the wound. “The healing was only surface healing. The bullet flew back out and the skin healed up. The tissue inside is blasted though.”   
  
 _Great. Simply amazing._  Thaddius sat up, wincing as the pain shot through his chest. “She’s a crack shot, Pansy is.”   
  
Susan got a cold rag and brushed the bruise on his head, cooling it. He sighed as he watched her face; expression caring. “What do you want to be when you leave Hogwarts?” He asked, curious.   
  
“Funny you ask,” Susan answered wringing out the rag. “A nurse at St. Mungo’s would be nice, but I’m afraid my grades might not be up to par.”   
  
Thaddius sighed. “You’ll get in, don’t worry.”   
  
“What makes you so sure of that?” She asked.   
  
Thaddius stood up, in all his male glory. She didn’t look at him, hiding her gaze from him. He felt a slight irritation running through him.  _Stupid Slytherin Zabini. He doesn't deserve her._ He grabbed his shirt off the chair and put it on, and buttoned a few of the buttons. He slipped his shoes on and looked back up at her, catching her staring at him. He suppressed a triumphant grin, and raised a brow. “Because you really and truly  _care_. It’s not about the pay roll for you, you truly want to make people better. It’s a rare thing.”   
  
She looked at the ground, and he felt something tug inside of him. He always felt something when he was around her. He stood up and walked over to her slowly and put a finger under her chin, gently raising it so her eyes met his. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”   
  
She sighed. “I know.”   
  
For a moment, they stood just so. Thaddius stared into her brown eyes, drawing in them. Before he knew it, he was leaning forward, lips nearly touching hers. Just as his lips were a hair’s breadth above hers, she turned her head. His lips touched her cold cheek. He stayed there for a second and then stood back up.   
  
She looked at him, anguish in her eyes. “I can’t do this, Thaddius. I’m with Blaise now.”   
  
He looked into her unfathomable eyes and felt something cut deep within him. He felt the anger rising in his body, but he pushed it down. She could never see that side of him. His lip quirked to the side slightly and then leaned down, hands behind his back, and kissed her forehead. He stepped away from her and grabbed his coat from the chair and went over to the door. He turned around to look at her; she was standing in the same spot, looking at him. He gave her a grin, “’Till next time, Sooz.”   
  
Then, he shut the door.   
  
 _And sure as Merlin’s legends, there’s going to be a next time,_  Thaddius conceded to himself as he walked down the hallway of the hotel. He had a plan. He wasn’t going to let Blaise Zabini of all people steal Susan away from him.   
  
Then he wondered…   
  
 _How would Susan respond to being seduced?_    
  
He grinned, and with a renewed spirit, he pushed out of the door and into the sunlight, all his pain gone.   
  
She would like it. If not, he was very pursuasive.   _Very_  pursuasive.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“What the hell was that all about?” Pansy asked Ron as he walked out of the library with a goofy smile on his face. He looked down at her new attire. The crème dress hugged her body nicely. She wasn’t wearing a corset like most of the girls did. Her hair was coiffed up now in a complicated up do.   
  
“You look nice,” Ron said, ears turning slightly red.   
  
Pansy didn’t notice. “You didn’t answer my question.”   
  
“I can’t just stop being his friend,” Ron replied with mirth.   
  
“You owe me, Ronald. Don’t you forget that.”   
  
“That‘s true, but you choose my friends for me,” Ron answered, his courage to speak to her was going to get him in lots of interesting places. He looked forward, and then, some movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked down into the next hallway, but no one was there. Odd…   
  
“I can do a lot more than that,” Pansy said, grabbing his shirt and pushing him into an abandoned sitting room. She shut the door behind her and locked it.   
  
Ron crossed his arms, looking at her. “Oh really?” He asked, raising a red brow.   
  
For a moment, her green eyes flared up wickedly, but then they subdued, back to their cold demeaning color. “You can’t disobey me again.”   
  
“What?” Ron asked, grinning at her. “Are you going to punish me if I do?”   
  
Pansy pulled out her musket from beneath her cloak and pointed it at him. “You would enjoy that too much.” She cocked it. His eyes went a little wider. “Now, will you listen?”   
  
“Stop pointing that at me,” Ron said fiercely. “You need me for your plan, and killing me won’t serve any of your purposes.” He grinned inwardly. Hermione would have been proud.   
  
She lowered her gun, frustration clear on her face. She lowered it and put it back into her cloak. She gave him a cutting green glare. “You’re going to go right back in there and ask if you can talk to him later, you understand?” She was going to win this stupid bet with Granger, if her very life depended on it. Luckily, she had one more life to expend. Call her a cat.   
  
Ron put his hands in the air. “Yes, your highness, I understand.”   
  
“Good.” Her voice was curt. She put her arm in his, and opened the door. “Shall we go?”   
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “I suppose.”   
  
The mission was easier than he thought. Harry said it’d be fine, as Ron knew he would. It worked out for Pansy just well.   
  
Let the destruction of the Golden Trio begin.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. She stood, starstruck in the hall, looking at Pansy and Ron walking and talking as if they had know each other for ages. As if they had done…   
  
Her mouth dropped open as she said something and he leaned in to hear it better. She was going to ruin  _everything!_  Hermione dodged behind a statue as Ron looked her way. She held her breath. He hadn’t seen her.   
  
Then, her world was officially rocked. Right in front of her naked eyes, Pansy grinned at Ron. Hermione  _knew_  that grin. That was a sexually charged, ‘I’m about to do _stuff_  with you’ kind of grin… Then she pushed him right into an empty room. She heard the door shut and the click of a lock that accompanied it.   
  
Hermione felt her stomach weaving. She was going to be sick. She stood, shell shocked for a moment, and then left to go find some water. Good Merlin, she needed some right now, else she’d upchuck all over her lovely dress.   
  
She had a feeling her maid wouldn’t like that at all.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Pansy walked into the back of the navigation room, where Ron was supposed to meet Harry. She opened the door, and Harry didn’t even look up. She left the door slightly ajar, if she had to run for any reason. Harry wasn’t known for his rash decisions.   
  
“Hello, Ro--” His eyes went up with a smile, and then the smile dropped into a cold mask of surprise. “Parkinson.” His hand instantly wrapped around the musket strapped to his waist. “Give me one good reason--”   
  
Pansy took her cloak off, and with a revealing manner revealed all of the weapons and knives fastened in the inside. She took it to the other side of the room and hung it on the cloak hanger. She walked to him, hands in the air in a friendly manner. “Come come, now Potter. I know you’re excited to see me, but can you put your toy up for now?”   
  
Harry’s face of surprise instantly vanished. Now, it was unreadable. “Why should I when you seem so eager for it?”   
  
Pansy’s eyes went open in unabashed surprise, and then, she did the last thing he thought she would. Her laughter bounded off the walls. She looked him straight in the eyes, Slytherin mirth written all over her face. “Harry Potter and innuendoes. Who saw it coming?”   
  
Harry was done playing games. “What do you want, Parkinson?” He cocked the musket. He wasn’t going to fight with her. He knew she was really good. He wouldn’t chance it. After all, muskets were a good way to go. He was a crack shot.   
  
“Ah, ah, ah,” Pansy said, sitting down primly. “You don’t want to kill me.”   
  
Harry raised a brow at her. “Tell me why not.”   
  
She raised a brow back, completely demure in a non-innocent manner. “Because, dear,” she said with a sweet voice, “I have some information that you might want.”   
  
“Concerning what?”   
  
Pansy leaned in. “Draco Malfoy.”   
  
Harry looked at her for a moment, and then lowered his musket. He saw a spark of triumph in her eyes, but he didn’t care. He could always kill her later… If he had to. “Tell me.”   
  
Pansy leaned back with a cunning grin. “It’d be my pleasure.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione walked into the Navy room. She had yet to find the library, but this was the second best place to go. She clutched a cup of water in her hand. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to let it go yet. The queasiness still hadn’t left her.   
  
Bemusedly, she realized that she was walking around the men’s side of the castle unchaperoned.  _How scandalous. Maid would faint if she heard._ Hermione grinned slightly, feeling rebellious. She wandered over to the maps of Fliadopia and pulled one out, putting her cup of water on the table. The inscrolled it and looked with wide eyes at the detail and hard work put into it. After a moment of looking, she scrolled it back up and put it on the shelf. She was reaching for another parchment when she heard a pleased woman’s laughter from the back of the room. Her hand froze in the air. Curiosity flooded through her veins. It didn’t take her but a split moment to know that she wanted to go find out who it was. It sounded strangely familiar.   
  
She crept down the aisles upon aisles of parchments. Several windows reflected the sunset light, turning the room orange and yellow with the sun’s fading glow. She heard voices. One woman, and one man. She scanned for the source, and then saw the door. It was slightly cracked open.   
  
Hermione held her breath as she walked over to the door. She paused before looking in. She really shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t decent… For a lady.   
  
Hermione leaned and looked through the crack in the door.   
  
Shock held her for a moment.   
  
 _Harry and... and... PARKINSON?_  
  
She looked at the two, disbelievingly, sitting there cozily in the little room. She could see Pansy’s face better than Harry’s; she had a cat smile on her face, as she leaned back. Like she was his… his… his friend. Hermione couldn’t hear the words coming out of her mouth. Rage was buzzing in her ears.   
  
Why didn’t Harry go? Why didn’t he just leave? Why didn’t he…. Her eyes grew wider as he leaned forward, apparently wanting to hear more of what she said. They were sitting like they were old friends.   
  
The New Trio.   
  
This was supposed to be her! It was she that was in the Golden Trio. Not this Slytherin witch. This was… it was!  
  
Hermione stepped away from the door rage consuming her. She walked quietly away from the door, stealth skills amplified by her anger. She left the room, mind whirring. She knew what she had to do, and it wasn’t going to be easy. Cho was marrying Harry. Ginny liked Harry a lot. Pansy was seducing Harry.   
  
Hermione was going to enter the competition and proudly pin the number four on her breast. She would rise above it all and make him fall in love with her. This game had gone on long enough. She would  _not_ let Pansy Parkinson, of all people, sink her little red, chipped talons in her life, into her friends, into her victory. Ginny would get over it after Hermione explained, Cho wouldn’t much care, and Pansy…. Hermione didn’t give a Merlin’s examination rat about her. She was going to win the game, the stupid bet, morals be damned.  
  
She was going to finish this once and for all. She shook her hair and went to her bedchamber. It was time to make up a plan.   
  
She looked at the small parchment her main had written up for her. It was titled ‘Schedule.’   
  
Her eyes scanned for tomorrow’s events. Her finger trailed down the list when she hit the 7:00 p.m. slot. Elegantly written, it said ‘ _Masquerade Ball_.’   
  
Hermione set her lips in determination. She would make her move then, and by all the powers she had, nothing would stop her. And she had a lot of powers. Everyone could only hope that nothing would stand in the way of her mission. Because anything or anyone that did was going to be toast.   
  
 _French Toast._    
  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco sat in the room silently as his cauldron bubbled lightly. He was a genius. A sodding genius. What else could a Slytherin Malfoy be but genius? Exactly. Good looking, is what else he was. Frankenstein didn't even hold a candle!  
  
He looked at the ingredients in his old potions book and then carefully cut up some roots his long capable fingers cutting with precision. The room was lit in the darkness. His potion was almost done, props to the almost finished potion that was in Professor Snape’s potion cabinet. It only had one more day to boil, and it would be complete.   
  
Professor Snape had developed a ‘freeze’ spell that allowed the process of a potion to be stilled in time. Instead of a real bottle made of glass, the bottle was made of the essence of time. It kept the potion in that certain stage, so that if he had to leave or something urgent happened, he could put a stopper on it, and return to it weeks later.   
  
Merlin, was Draco lucky that Snape had this one potion in freeze action. Also, luckily, Draco had made this potion before and knew exactly where it had been stopped making.   
  
He was surrounded by several materials that he had ran and gotten right after Hermione was sorted, claiming that he ‘had to go to the restroom.’ On his way, he summoned his potions book, and several other ingredients he needed and tucked them into an expensive pouch inside of his cloak. He came back in as if nothing had happened and got put back into the game.   
  
Genius. A sodding god. He was Draco Malfoy. Cunning, devious, and an unbelievably sexy Slytherin, to boot. He truly had no equal.   
  
He looked back down at his book in the candle light. He was trying to be indiscrete as possible. Having anyone find him and know he was where he was would have been a problem. And he really wasn’t in the mood to kill anyone. Perhaps he was saving it for tomorrow.   
  
He checked the temperature of the cauldron and grinned as he realized it was ready for his roots. He put the first ingredient that continued the potion and grinned, and recited, in his melting accent, a little rhyme that he used to know. “ Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn, and cauldron bubble…”   
  
He gave a devilish smile, hair falling into his face, blue eyes twinkling with mischief in the candle light as he tossed in another ingredient into the bubbling concoction.   
  
 _This is going to be fun._  


	23. Man Hunt

“He’s launching an assassination,” Pansy said to Harry, lips curving in a smirk. “You’re going to die.” There was no hesitation. She was sure of herself. Completely confident.   
  
Harry arched a brow, refusing to lean back as she did. He saw the amalgamation in the bosom of her dress, not that he was really leering at her or anything: he knew the tip of a dagger sheath when he saw one. “Oh, really?” He asked rhetorically. “You know, Parkinson,” he said leaning forward, “As I recall, you were never good at divination.”   
  
She raised a wicked brow in return, “That may be true, but Draco is  _very_  good at aligning the stars.”   
  
Harry gave a laugh, as if she had told him a hilarious joke. “That’s a good one.”   
  
Pansy’s other equally wicked eyebrow rose to match the other in amusement. “You don’t believe me?” She asked, green eyes glittering. She surveyed the Boy-Who-Would-Never-Die before her. He looked… ordinary. She noticed odd things. Like the way his hair stood on end, as if he had just gotten out of bed. How he had dark circles under his eyes, how his eyes held the world in them… And he refused to share. She had never really been this close to him, alone, before. It gave her a funny feeling, as if she was seeing something for the first time. Yet, as she was making these absurd observations, her lips stayed twisted into a blood red smirk.   
  
“I don’t believe that Malfoy has enough charm to make all the stars in the heavens even  _twinkle_  at his command.”   
  
Pansy leaned forward, giving him a clear view down her dress. He didn’t take it. But his eyes did zero in on her face, more on her lips. They were telling the ludicrous story.   
  
She smirked at him. “You don’t even know the half of his charm, Potter. He doesn’t make the stars _twinkle_. " She said it as if Harry was crazy for even thinking that. "He doesn’t have to _charm_  them to do that. When he charms… he makes them  _dance_.”   
  
Harry sighed in mock disappointment. “And here I was, thinking his gorgeous  _smile_  made them  _sing_.”   
  
Pansy’s eyebrows went up again, surprised. “He’s  _very_ good at what he does. You should send out your soldiers, snag him, and hang him before it’s too late.”   
  
He looked at her for a moment, and cracked another grim smile. “He’s a snake, Parkinson. I couldn’t catch him even if I wanted to.”   
  
“Yet, when he wants to catch you--”   
  
“Voldemort couldn’t catch me, Parkinson. I doubt Malfoy can either.”   
  
 _Wise, but a little cocky._ Pansy sighed and looked away. Suddenly, Harry's senses sharpened. Something was off. Why would she tell all of him this. Draco… She used to be his flavor of the age. They were both Slytherins… His eyes narrowed on her, cutting off what she was about to say. “What’s in it for you?” Harry asked, quietly, dangerously.   
  
Pansy just gave him a red smirk. “A girl has to have her secrets, Potter.”   
  
“If this is for some twisted revenge against him--”   
  
“It’s not,” Pansy replied lazily. Lying of course, but he didn’t need to know that. That wouldn’t serve her at all. “I just thought, that with the two times that he’s killed your best buddy Granger, you might have wanted to element of surprise, and snag him.”   
  
“Malfoy’s are rarely ever surprised.” Harry leaned back in his seat, steeping his fingers, regarding Pansy over his hands, taking in her serious expression. “You’re serious,” he said, almost surprised. Malfoy was going to kill him, right under his nose. And without Pansy, he wouldn’t know anything at all. “What’s in it for you?” He asked again, “I have to know if I can trust you.”   
  
Pansy stood up, smoothing her skirt, and walked over to her cape, which she donned. She pulled the black hood over her head, her green eyes glittering from the depths inside. “You can  _never_  trust a Slytherin.”   
  
“How do you know he’s here? How do you know anything?”   
  
“His blonde hair is impossible to miss,” she said softly. “He’s here, and as to how I know. I have many sources. I have eyes everywhere, Potter.” She tipped her hood back just for a second so he could see her wink. “So next time you sleep, try not to sleep talk. I don’t think you’d want the rest of the world to know about your odd obsession for magical wands, now would you?”  her sultry voice gave the words a completely different meaning.  
  
His face flushed with heat. He had been dreaming about his wand at Ollivander’s, how they worked. His parent’s wands, and just how to channel magic. It was the oddest, yet educational series of dreams. Never put it under a Slytherin to make an innocent dream sound kinky. He saw a flash of a white crescent in the darkness of her hood; a wicked smile, and then, she was gone, leaving an echo of her almost sultry voice behind her.  
  
Harry thought as she left,  _she almost seemed… nice._  
  
He sighed audibly, slouching into the contour of the chair.  _You just know when you’re thinking Slytherins are nice, the world is ending._ This, for obvious reasons, wasn’t good. Perhaps a session with the royal phsychiatric ward? He snorted. That wouldn't help his sanity at all. Maybe he'd go and get a lolli-pop and sing some stupid chant and run through the hallways. It would help his sanity just as much.  
  
He waited a few moments, and then walked out the door and through the Navigation room. He walked briskly to the soldiers quarters, and found Ron, playing chess with Seamus. “Ron, can I talk to you for a minute?”   
  
Ron looked up from his game and read the urgency in Harry’s face. He looked at Seamus with a goofy grin. “I’ll be right back. If you move the pieces, I’ll know.”   
  
“Oh, shove off, Weasley,” Seamus returned with a roll of his eyes. “I guess I should thank you for postponing my inevitable fate.”   
  
Ron just laughed and shook his head. Harry took him by the elbow and they walked away 10 paces. “You won’t believe who came to see me.”   
  
“Ron looked at him, puzzled. “Who?”   
  
“Pansy Parkinson.”   
  
Ron feigned shock. The witch! How  _dare_  she pull something like this…Behind his back, no less.  “What did she say?”   
  
Harry looked at Ron with narrowed eyes. Did Ron already know…. _No_. A voice said in his head.  _Ron would have told you if he had seen her._  Harry’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Funny, he hadn’t even realized that they were tense in the first place. “Malfoy is plotting something. She say he’s out to get me.”   
  
Ron sighed in relief. She hadn’t said anything about their… ’association’. He avoided Harry‘s eyes. “Well, that’s nothing new, I suppose.”   
  
Harry looked away form his friend, eyes glancing around the room, as if Draco was standing there, grey eyes piercing, stabbing him as he stood somewhere in the shadows. Harry didn’t like this situation one bit. “Malfoy’s are sneaky as hell, Ron. We, of all people, should know that.”   
  
Ron took a moment to think and suggested, “Well, we can send a guard out to find him. We’ll have him in no time!”   
  
Harry shook his head. “He’ll be expecting it.”   
  
Ron gave Harry a grin. “No if he doesn’t know that we know.”   
  
“How can you be so sure that Parkinson isn’t in the league with him?”   
  
Ron looked Harry squarely in the eye. “Why would she come to you about killing him at all? They obviously had a falling out. She knows she can’t beat him. He's stronger than she is. Slytherins are prideful people. Maybe she's already tried and can't. I wouldn't put it past a Slytherin to use a Gryffindor to get things done. It seems logical to me. Besides," Ron added with an afterthought, "She's a girl. She's not supposed to make sense.”   
  
Harry sighed, not thinking of it that way. “Do you think he hurt her?”   
  
Ron felt his nerves racing. “It’s possible,” he lied, not knowing what Pansy was up to. In fact, he planned to find out immediately after this conversation.   
  
“Give the order, to look for Malfoy. Seamus’ll get excited, for sure,” Harry said with a wry, exhausted grin. “Then come up to my chambers. We need to get dressed for the blasted ball tonight.”   
  
“Frivolities!” Ron said in a girly voice, jumping around. He batted his lashes at Harry. “D’ya think McGonagall will let me wear my hair down?”   
  
Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I dare say, she’s real strict about that. I’d watch out if I were you.”   
  
Ron’s face took on a comical horror, as he leaned in and whispered to Harry conspiratorially, “You don’t think that she…. She would beat me, do you?”   
  
Harry let out a loud laugh and pushed his friend away, playfully. “Sure, whatever your imagination can cook up, Ronald. I’m sure you’d like it.”   
  
Ron rolled his eyes, feeling immensely happy, then remembered something. “We got two knew people this morning, I’ve yet to find out who they are. Do you know?”   
  
Harry shrugged. “They’re just recycled students, I’m sure.” Then a grin lit up his eyes. “Two people at the Ball that we haven’t seen in a while. That should make for loads of fun.”   
  
Ron smiled. “Sure, whatever you say, your highness! I’m going to go and give out those orders now.”   
  
Harry watched Ron walk off with a renewed vigor in his step. He smiled, knowing what he just put Ron to. The whole world knew that Man Hunt was a favorite Weasely game. Merlin forbid Ron lose his title to a Malfoy.   
  
Hours later, Ron came to Harry’s room, dejected. He sat down by the desk, not saying a word: his face said it all. No Malfoy.   
  
They picked out their masks and outfits, wary of all the shadows.   
  
They woke up to the same news:   
  
All night, the men searched with zeal: No sign of Malfoy.   
  
No one really noticed the figure walking in plain sight, with a knowing smirk on his face….  _Perhaps if I show myself..._  
  
A soldier walked up the figure who had just strolled to the fountain with ease and a smile on his face.  He gave the figure a description of Draco Malfoy and asked if he had seen him. The figure gave a smile with a curt shake of his head. The soldier gave a salute and walked off.   
  
The figure kept a smirk on his face as one thought ran through his mind.  
  
 _This is just too bloody easy!_  
Then again, some thoughts are simply delusions.  
  
This one most certainly was.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
The morning of the ball, Hermione ran a hand through her frazzled hair, looking at the many dresses on the floor. She pulled a few more of them out of her closet with distaste. “None of these are going to work!” She muttered to herself angrily, not happy with her selection.   
  
Nothing seductive, nothing even revealing. This was a bloody _masquerade_ , for Merlin’s sake! Maidens could be a little daring, couldn’t they?   
  
 _Apparently not,_  a snide voice in her mind said. Hermione pushed it away, and donned her cape over the pastel green day dress she was wearing. She walked outside her door, not caring about the dresses on the floor. She didn’t have time to clean up! She glanced through the corridor, noting that no one was in site.  _Yes! Another day without the maid with the funny accent!_  
She stole down the corridor, hood of her cape up to cover her face. She passed Ginny’s room, trying to be quiet. It was a blessing not to run about with a corset. She then began on a run around the corner, freedom singing through her veins so loudly, that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming down the hall, and she ran right smack dab into a very hard, very warm, very  _male_  figure.   
  
She began falling, but a pair of strong, fair skinned arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her into his chest. Her hood fell away from her face. “My first day as a noble, and I daresay, the women are falling at my feet already.” The voice rumbled through her entire body, sending her every nerve on a tingling edge. She could feel the every contour of his body pressed up against her.  
  
His voice was so familiar, yet Hermione couldn’t place it. It was so charming, so very pleasant. Hermione refused the urge to stay tangled in this strangers arms and  disentangled herself and took a step back, blushing at her clumsiness. Her body ached to be held again. It was so odd. She took her gaze from her fingers to look at the face of her savior. “Thank you, you’re so--”   
  
Her voice stopped. -- _Amazingly gorgeous?_  Her golden eyes met piercing blue ones. The rest of the words died in her mouth. Before her stood the most gorgeous person she’d ever seen in her life. His hair was a light, chocolate brown, falling into his sky colored eyes. For a moment, she was thrown aback by the fierce hatred in his eyes… And then, it disappeared, as if it were never there. Perhaps he thought she had been someone else. They filled with a warmness that made her heart stutter to a stop, and then burst back into life, galloping as fast as it could. He gave her a disarming grin. My, but she was going to swoon.   
  
“And you are?” He asked, eyes dancing.   
  
“Hermione Granger,” she managed to say. She wrapped her wits together. She couldn’t act like all the rest of the girls. “Who are you?” she asked, eyes narrowing slightly. She’d never seen him before. Was he an extra? Merlin, if he was… She had to get rid of him fast. Falling in like with an extra was a bad idea. He’d just disappear when she was done with the game. That would lead to unnecessary heart break, tears, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.   
  
“Hermione Granger…” She watched as his eyes seemed to go back to some memories. “Ah!” His eyes lit up. “You used to go out with Victor Krum!”  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed as her heart did a little leap. Not an extra, obviously. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said, with a brow raised.   
  
“Dommanic Aymes Lafroy, at your service,” he said with a low bow and a wicked smile that did things to her insides. He took her hand and regarded her. “I’m an exchange student for Durmstrang. My parents decided that Hogwarts would be a better place for me to finish my education. I guess I should thank them.” He gave her a wink, and touched his lips to her gloved hand. Suddenly, the ring on her finger began burning lightly. She shook it off. It did that every now and then. Inconvenient is all.   
  
He held her hand for a moment longer than protocol, then released it. “What color?” he asked.   
  
Hermione’s brain stopped functioning. “What color....?”  Her voice trailed off in confused question.  
  
He grinned, sending a rush of heat through her body. “What color are you wearing tonight?”   
  
“Oh!” Hermione mentally hit herself. She was acting like a silly girl, for Merlin’s sake. Like she was besotted or something… Hermione’s cheekbones went slightly pink, as she contemplated. “Black.” She blurted unsophisticatedly. Then her cheeks turned even pinker. She lifted her chin up with dignity… Well, with the shred of dignity she had left. “I’ll be wearing black tonight.”   
  
He gave her a grin. “Then, I’ll dress to match, Lady Granger.”   
  
Hermione blushed again, not knowing what to say or do. She had never felt like a besotted little twit before. She wasn't sure she liked it. Her voice became firmer. “You know, you don’t have to call me that.”   
  
“What, Lady Granger isn’t to your suiting?“ He raised a perfect brow. “I thought you were the one who followed the rules _all_  the time.”   
  
Hermione went cold, stone cold. Something in the way he said it was so familiar.  _So_  familiar that she could have sworn--   
  
He smiled at her again, messing with her senses and screwing up her thoughts. “But I suppose there’s a bit of a rebel in every one of us.” He picked up her hand from her side, and give it another kiss, his lips lingering on her knuckles; her ring burned again. “Save a dance for me,” he said  hotly with his wicked grin.   
  
His long fingers supporting her palm moved to her bare wrist and caressed it lightly. Hermione gasped. It took a moment for her to regain her thoughts as he gave her a devilish smile and swept by her. She put her hands on her hips. She wouldn’t let a man get the best of her. “If I have an extra. Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to amuse.”   
  
He turned around slowly, and gave her a wink. “Or, maybe I’ll get lucky.”   
  
And he turned the corner, leaving a very, _very_  flustered Hermione behind.  _Maybe I'll get lucky._  He had said.  _Oh, that could be taken so many ways,_ a sultry voice inside of her said provocatively.  
  
 _So this is what it's like to be lusted after._ Her thought almost shocked her. She stayed standing there, looking at that corner for a whole minute, and then snapped back to her senses. She couldn’t waste any time!  _I have to find a dress that looks better than everyone elses so that I can seduce Domman-- I mean, Harry, and then I have to... Stop thinking about Dommanic!_  
  
Oh, my. She had just met him and  _already_  he was under her skin.   
  
 _Merlin._  Hermione ran a hand through her messy hair as she quickly resumed her journey.   
  
This was about to get  _very_ complicated. 


	24. Dressing For Seduction

Susan looked at the dark purple gown laying on her cot. It was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. It had cost her a fortune too. She could only imagine how it would feel tonight at the ball. She sighed as she slipped on her black pants and her torn and muddy, white blouse.  Well, it  _used_  to be white.  
  
She sat down for a moment, to tie the leather laces on her shoes. After it all happened, she didn’t know whether or not to put it to luck or to just pure coincidence… She stood up and looked right out the window and saw Pansy Parkinson walking down the street with a smirk on her face. She was tossing something up and down into the air.   
  
Susan felt her heart jump start. She rushed over to the window to get a closer look not at Pansy, but at  what the wench was tossing up into the air. Her breathing stopped. Her feet flew over to the door as she threw her hair up into a tie.   
  
Her feet carried her down the stairs at unbelievable speed, she burst into the sunlight. Her eyes scanned the street with a quick, critical, observing glance. Then she saw her: Pansy was turning a corner, still tossing Susan’s object of desire into the air.   
  
Susan glanced around, to make sure it wasn’t a set up, and walked briskly forward, her legs carrying her across a large distance in a short amount of time. She stopped at the corner where Pansy had turned, glanced around one more time, and then looked around the corner.   
  
Susan grasped the cutlass with her right hand and her pistol with her left and turned the corner. The bitch wasn’t going to get away from her this time. She turned the corner, and stalked Pansy at a distance for a moment.   
  
Then, as if Pansy had a Merlin himself telling her what was going on around her, she turned around, green eyes sharp and narrowed. Susan ducked into another street and waited a moment.   
  
She ran down that street and took a street that was parallel to the one Pansy was walking. She ran quickly down the street, looking, looking, and just when she thought that she had lost Pansy, she saw Pansy turning another corner.   
  
Susan jogged to catch up, and just as she turned yet another corner, she saw Pansy enter a building. She rushed in before the door could close, and slipped inside.   
  
Pansy stood, back to her, tossing the black box in the air. “You know, Bones,” she said, “I never thought that stalking was one of your Hufflepuff qualities.”   
  
Susan narrowed her eyes at the Slytherin’s slim back. “Shut up,” she said steadily. Pansy held the box to her side, opening it, looking at the ship inside. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”   
  
Pansy laughed, a leisurely laugh that came from her lips in a sultry wave of sound that echoed in the abandoned ware house. Susan stood still as a mouse ready to trick the mouse trap. She had to think, she had to make a plan. “Give me the box, and I’ll leave,” Susan offered.   
  
Pansy turned around, black hair floating in non-existent wind. It seemed that Slytherins had a flair for making a scene. Everything seemed to work out just right for them. Pansy lifted a perfect eyebrow in apparent amusement. “You want to fight for it?”   
  
Susan tensed up at those six words. She was hoping that it wouldn’t come to this. But, alas, the fates never really like her anyways. “Give it to me, and I’ll leave you peacefully.”   
  
“You’re kidding me, right?” Pansy asked with an easy smirk on her face. Her green eyes narrowed on the girl in front of her.   
  
Susan still, didn’t move. She held her cutlass tightly in one hand, and her pistol in the other. “No, I’m quite serious.”   
  
Pansy gave her a mischievous, wicked smile. “Well, then. I guess I’ll just have to put a smile on your face.”   
  
Susan barely had time to blink as Pansy’s dagger flew through the air and hit her pistol out of her hand. Immediately. Susan dodged in with her cutlass, meeting Pansy’s.   
  
“Oh, you  _are_  delightful!” Pansy said, as if she had just made this conclusion. She whirled around. Perhaps this would last more than two minutes! Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Pansy  _was_ the best, after all.   
  
Susan didn’t answer, and stayed loyal to her sword. It was the only thing that was going to get her out of this mess.   
  
Pansy sidestepped one of Susan’s blows and watched with amusement as the girl flew forward with nothing to meet. She took her foot and shoved her to the ground. Susan scrambled on the floor as Pansy laughed. “You really thought you could beat me,  _me_ , of all people?”   
  
Suddenly, her laugh was cut of by the cocking of a pistol. She had pushed Susan right where the pistol she had launched out of her hand seconds ago.  
   
“Damn right, I did. Still do.” Susan shot at Pansy’s pistol which Pansy was just drawing: it blew into smithereens. Her next shot ripped Pansy’s sword from her hand. Susan stood up, slowly, watching Pansy‘s every move: one shot was left in her pistol. “Now give me the box, and I’ll let you live.”   
  
Pansy’s face went shocked for a second as her weapons were shot from her hands. She masked her surprise in milli-seconds, and narrowed her eyes at the Hufflepuff in front of her. “And if I don’t?”   
  
Susan cocked the pistol and pointed right between Pansy’s eyes. She didn’t say a word. Pansy felt anger boil in her veins. She couldn’t do anything at all. She had thrown her only dagger early in the game. Her weapons were too far for her to get. Pansy felt her insides incinerate as she took the black box out of her pocket and tossed it to Susan.   
  
She caught it with one hand, never taking her eyes from Pansy’s. She flipped it open quickly, confirming the contents, then snapped it shut. She wouldn’t have put it past Pansy to trick her.   
  
She kept their gazes locked as she put it into her pocket. She walked slowly away from Pansy, her pistol never wavering. Susan didn’t mutter another word as she slipped through the door.   
  
Then, she ran.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione stood in front of the sketchy  shop, wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt. This was her last resort, she realized. with finality. All of the other dress shops had dresses that were far too.. Too modest. Hermione shuddered at the thought. This wasn’t like her at all. She should be concerned about looking  _decent,_  and respectable.  _Well, you've got to do what you've got to do,_  a voice said in her head. Hermione reached out to the handle with determination. She could do this.   
  
As soon as she walked into the room, her eyes, as she had known they would, flew open. All sorts of indecent articles of clothing were on display. She looked at one particular item of clothing.  _How are you supposed to even stick that up_ \--   
  
“Can I help you?” The low, seductive voice came from right behind her. She jumped in the air, and whirled around, hand on her throat. Before her stood the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her life. Her skin was tan, hair black, and eyes a clear hazel. She was curvy. Very curvy. _Well, she’s certainly… endowed_. Hermione gulped, intimidated.   
  
“Aw, you’re a newbie, aren’t you?” the woman asked sympathetically, taking in Hermione's odd expression. Hermione almost choked. She bit down the insane urge to laugh.   
  
“No, I need a dress.”   
  
The woman’s sharp hazel eyes narrowed as she ran her eyes down Hermione‘s modest dress. “Well, you’re just going to have to go to the respectable part of town. We don’t sell Lady’s dresses here.”   
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed in return. “I’m not a lady.”   _Sodding sewing._  
  
The woman laughed, a clear bell ringing through the musky room. “Could have fooled me.” Her eyes ran down Hermione’s form again.   
  
Hermione planted her feet on the ground, refusing to be shaken by the Amazonian goddess in front of her. She titled her head up, so her eyes wouldn’t be at the same level as the woman’s… Hermione blushed. “I need to look stunning. Lady’s dresses are drab and dull. I need… something…  _exciting._  Seductive.”   
  
The woman cocked a brow at her, eyes surprised. “And just who _are_  you?”   
  
Hermione laughed. “That doesn’t really matter does it?”   
  
The woman shook her head in disbelief. “She’s lost her mind,” she muttered. "Where's your chaperone?"   
  
"Don't have one," Hermione replied, almost cheekily. "I'm not a lady, remember."  
  
"Oh, right," the Amazon's voice dripped with dry humor. "I forgot."  
  
Hermione tried not to roll her eyes, and bit her lip instead, to keep the words she was going to say inside of her mouth. “So, can you help me?”   
  
The woman’s eyes roved over Hermione’s body. Hermione shuddered: she never knew that one could feel naked while still wearing clothes. She blushed.   
  
“Well,” the woman began her evaluation as she circled Hermione, “I might have something that I used to wear. It’s got white--”   
  
“I need black,” Hermione said quickly, interjecting the woman. She simply looked back at Hermione with eyebrows raised. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”   
  
Hermione promptly bit her lip.   
  
The woman kept muttering to herself. “Yes, it’ll fit just there, might be a little small there…” She raised her eyes to Hermione’s. “It’ll be indecent.”   
  
Hermione gave her a confident smile. “That’s the effect I’m going for.”   
  
The woman sighed. “It’s your funeral.” She went to the back, without saying a word. Hermione remained rooted to the spot, and kept her eyes to an inconspicuous, innocent, piece of wood. Wood was good. Innocent, pure, untouched, virginal... Wood was safe.....  _Wood?_  
  
The woman returned just as Hermione’s curiosity was getting the best of her. She was holding a big cardboard box. “I used to wear this when I was new to the business.”   
  
Hermione was smart enough not to inquire about said ‘business.’ She itched to ask if she’d washed it since then, but shut her mouth. The woman grinned at Hermione’s face. “It’s alright, love. It’s clean.”   
  
Hermione bit back her sigh of relief. “Can I see it?”   
  
The woman shrugged and opened the box. Hermione’s eyes went wide. She could  _not_ … Nope. Absolutely not.  _But_ … Hermione’s fingers reached out to touch the fabric. It was soft and silky: each fold caught the light. It begged her to touch it again.  
  
“Try it on,” the woman said, thrusting the box into Hermione’s arms, and pushed her into a fitting room. Hermione stood stock still as the door slammed behind her. There was no backing out now.   
  
This was her last resort. No one sold seductive, black dresses. She would, of course, charm her dress black. There was nothing that she could do about that. She quickly took of her dress, and stays, then pulled the dress out of the box. She gasped as it came out fold by fold.   
  
It was burlesque. The top was a lacy corset style, and the bottom fell down gracefully to the ground, nothing like the poofed dresses of the season. She took a deep breath and slipped the dress on. She noticed, perversely, that the ties were in the back. The buttons were in the front.   
  
With fumbling fingers, she managed to get all of the buttons buttoned, then she took her wand out to tighten the ties in the back. The dress kept telling her to think ‘ _comfortable’_. Hermione felt indecent. The white corset top hugged her curves, and pushed her breasts up.   
  
The black material that flowed from underneath the top hugged her hips and fell to the floor gracefully. There was a slit in it that came to her upper thigh when she moved. She looked at herself in the mirror, and mussed up her hair. After a second of hesitation, she gnawed on her lip, giving it a bit of red color.  
  
She felt…  _adventurous_. The pirate inside of her screamed in relief. It was time for some fun.   
  
The woman opened the door from behind her, and her lustrous mouth curved into a smile. “It’s perfect.”   
  
Hermione gulped. “You think so?”   
  
The woman looked at her from the mirror, and raised a brow. “You wanted indecent, and now you’ve got it.”   
  
She left the room, and Hermione quickly undressed, putting the dress into the box. She carried out of the room, in her bland dress. The woman gave her an ironic smile. “Be careful tonight, love. The men won’t be able to take their eyes off of you.”   
  
Hermione gave her a small, unsure smile. “I hope so.” They had better look at her. Especially one. Oh, two. Hermione paid the woman and rushed out of the store, her boxed dress in a cloth bag. She pulled up her clock and rushed to get to the ‘respectable’ part of town. She couldn’t be seen ---  
  
Suddenly, as she turned a corner, a body ran into her, throwing her to the ground. Hermione sprang up, bag in one hand, and a dagger in the other, looking at her attacker. She raised her hand to go in for the kill, only to see… “ _Susan_?”   
  
Susan looked up from the ground, panting. Her eyes flared in surprise. “Hermione!” She sprang up, and grabbed Hermione’s arm. “We’ve got to get out of here.”   
  
She dragged Hermione behind her, running like the devil was chasing her. A moment later, they burst out into the light of the main road in the city.  _Safe,_ Hermione thought, and was going to take her arm from Susan, but her companion didn’t let go. “Not here. Not yet.” Susan looked over her shoulder again.   
  
She kept walking until they reached an inn. Susan walked in, and took Hermione up the stairs. She pulled a key out of her pocked and unlocked a door then ushered Hermione in. She shut and locked the door behind her.   
  
“Susan--”   
  
Hermione’s eyes flew up when she heard the man’s voice. Susan… had a  _lover_? What was--   
  
Thaddius emerged, with a grin on his face. His grin froze when he saw who was with Susan. Then, it flared to life with extra wattage. Hermione could have sworn the sun flickered. “Captain Hell!!”   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, and grinned, in spite of herself. “Thadds! What’re you doing  _here_?”   
  
If Thaddius heard the intonation on that word, and indecent question implied with those four letters, he didn’t act it. Thaddius simply grinned. “That’s for me to know, and you to  _never_  find out.” He got up from Susan’s bed, and walked to the door, mischief written all over his face. He stopped briefly by Susan, and whispered hotly into her ear.“Tonight.”   
  
Susan felt a shiver go down her spine, and just as the sensation came, it left with his closing the door.   
  
Hermione whirled on Susan just as soon as Thaddius. “You and  _Thadds_?” Hermione blurted with a smile, disbelieving.   
  
Susan rolled her eyes. “He wishes.”   
  
Hermione laughed. “I guess that means you’re not willing to spill.”   
  
Susan shook her head with a grin. She pulled out something from her pocked. “I don’t have long. She could be back any time.”   
  
“She?” Hermione asked, curious.   
  
Susan rose her eyebrows and sighed. “I was running from Pansy. I got into a sword fight with her--”   
  
“You found  _Pansy_?” Hermione interrupted, brows flying into her hairline. “Here? I thought she was in the castle!"  
  
“In the castle?" Susan repeated, puzzled. 'No, she was here. Well, maybe she's a little more crafty than we give her credit for. I fought her right before I got to you. She had stolen something from me. I fought her to get it back. I should give it to you, lest she come back here again.”   
  
“Wait,” Hermione said, puzzled. “Again?”   
  
“She stole it from here the first time,” Susan explained, holding out the small black box. "She's been awfully busy for a someone who's supposed to be dead." Hermione took it from her and flipped the box open. She gasped. “But that’s..that’s!” She spluttered.   
  
“Thaddius and I charmed it to fit. When you need it again, you get someone to levitate it over the water, and then use the  _Engorgio_  charm. It’s simple, really. Takes care of having to hide a huge ship somewhere.”   
  
Hermione’s eyes flew up to Susan’s. “You’re a genius.”   
  
Susan blushed, modestly. “Nah. It was simple, really.”   
  
Hermione put the box in her pocket, her mind whirring with the possibilities. Suddenly, a thought hit her in the head. “Can I see your signet?” Hermione asked quickly.   
  
Susan frowned lightly and pulled her golden band off of her finger. “Here.”   
  
Hermione muttered a spell over it. For a moment, it shone a bright silver, a white hot color, and then returned to normal. Susan gasped. “What did you do to it?!”   
  
Hermione gave her ring back to her. The metal was already cool. “Remember when we were having DA classes with Harry in fifth year when Umbridge wouldn’t teach us magic?”   
  
Susan nodded.   
  
“Well, I used the same charm on your ring as I did on the galleons that informed you when the next meeting was. It’ll grow uncomfortably warm when I signal mine. When it does, and it  _will_  in the next few days, I need you to be at the docks.”   
  
Susan took all of this in. “Why?”   
  
“Because I’m going to finish this game once and for all. I need to attend to some unfinished business here, and then we’ll be off to Siramadra.”   
  
Susan nodded, not completely understanding what was going on.   
  
“Who else is here?” Hermione asked quickly.   
  
“The whole crew.”   
  
“ _The whole crew_?” Hermione gasped.   
  
“Well, that _is_  what I said,” Susan answered wryly.   
  
“I’ll need everyone at the midnight of the day your ring burns at the docks. I’ll meet you there with the ship. Then, we’ll leave.”   
  
"Do you have an approximate day?"  
  
Hermione thought for a moment. "Either the night  _of_  the wedding, or the day after. Just be ready."  
  
Susan looked at Hermione’s hands; her friend was wringing them. “You have somewhere to be?” She asked, remembering that Hermione had been in a hurry when they had run into eachother.   
  
Hermione looked into Susan’s eyes, wishing she could tell her everything. “Yes, I do, actually. Do you mind?”   
  
Susan put her ring on her finger and gave Hermione a smile. She picked up the bag that had Hermione’s dress. “Only if you won’t show me your dress, will I mind.”   
  
Hermione gave an embarrassed grin. “You really don’t want to see it.”   
  
“Oh, come on.” Susan pleaded. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”   
  
Hermione bit her lip. “Alright.” _It’ll be nice to know someone at the ball,_  she realized. And gave Susan a peek. Susan’s gasp echoed throughout the room. “Hermione…”   
  
Hermione shook her head. “Don’t say a word.”   
  
Susan flushed. “It’s… beautiful.”   
  
Hermione laughed. “Don’t even lie..”   
  
Susan looked at the ground. “I won’t. It’s  _scandalous!_ But I’m sure it has something to do with this insane plan of yours.”   
  
Hermione sighed in relief. “It does. I’m happy you understand.”   
  
Susan showed Hermione her dress. It was purple, demurely cut, with poufs for sleeves. It flew out around her in the current style: the poof was absolutely adorable. “Now  _that’s_  beautiful. “   
  
Susan blushed. “Thank you.”   
  
"I bet it looks even prettier on," Hermione conceded with a smile.  
  
Susan blushed again, and put the dress back on her bed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” She asked Hermione, hands on her hips.  
  
“Oh,” Hermione realized and laughed. “I’ve missed you Susan.”   
  
“I’ve missed you, too,” She returned and pushed Hermione out of the door, and locked it again.   
  
She needed to get ready for...  _'Tonight.'_  
  


* * *

  
  
Theodore looked at himself in the mirror, pleased with what he saw. His black hair smoothed back. He tied the cravat around his neck, tying the white cloth in the latest fashion. He buttoned up his cufflinks and turned to the girl in the room, who had just finished trussing up in a turquoise number. Raven pinned her dirty blonde hair with several pins and came over to Theodore. “Your cravat is crooked.”   
  
“He likes it like that,” Blaise answered from the chair in the room. He was tying his shoes.   
  
Theodore laughed lightly, his amber eyes assessing his friends. “This is going to be one night to remember.”   
  
Blaise raised a brow, his black skin looking elegant in the tan jacket and breeches that he was wearing. The fawn color only heightened his dangerous appearance. His cravat was stark white at his throat. “You know wherever Draco is, the party goes with him.”   
  
“And  _that’s_  exactly why it’s going to be a night to remember,” Theodore answered as Raven fussed with his cravat. Her long fingers turned it into a complicated knot. He grinned down at her. “Thanks.”   
  
She smirked. “Don’t say words you don’t mean.”   
  
She turned away from him and went to the other mirror in the room, and put on her rogue. It was indeed going to be a night to remember. “I heard that Pansy was here.”   
  
Theodore whipped around. “Pansy?” A rush of heat ran through his body. “When? Who said?”   
  
Raven arched a brow at her black haired friend. “Now, enlighten me, Theo. Why do you want to know?”   
  
“No reason,” He said coldly. “I was just curious.”   
  
“Mhmm,” Raven replied, putting dark powder on her eyelid. “Whatever you say.”   
  
Blaise watched, amused, as his friend’s jaw twitched in irritation. “The ship’s going to be alright?” He asked.   
  
Theodore nodded. “It’ll be fine.”   
  
“You sure?” Blaise asked. “Draco wouldn’t be happy if--”   
  
“It’s fine,” Theodore reassure Blaise. His charm work was unbelievable. Maybe one of the best to walk the halls apart from the deceased Diggory and know-it-all Granger who knew it simply because she, well,  _knew it all_ … Technically, he was the only  _worthy_ person whose charm work was brilliant.   
  
 He put a multi-layered charm on it to make it look like a sea-faring ship of Fliadopia. All traces of Pirate ship had disappeared. Right now, Draco’s _Silent Shadow_  sat in the main port of Fliadopia, and no one was the wiser. It was genius.   
  
Blaise stood up and straightened his own cravat. “Masks.”   
  
Raven took out Blaise’s white mask from a drawer and handed it to him after putting her own turquoise feathered one on. Theodore grabbed his scarlet mask that matched his deep red coat and jacket. There was a gold thread that bordered his jacked. The mask had touches of gold that brought out his eyes, and his silk shirt underneath his jacket. “Should we scout out the place before we go? We’ve still an hour.”   
  
Blaise shook his head. “It’s just a ball, nothing’s going to happen.”   
  
Raven nodded, agreeing with Blaise. “I agree. There’ll just be dancing--”   
  
“It’s never ‘just dancing’ when Draco’s around.”   
  
Raven rolled her eyes. “I’m hungry.”   
  
Blaise smirked. “Me too.”   
  
Theodore sighed, knowing he was outnumbered. “Fine. We’ll eat. But we have to keep a sharp eye at the ball. We don’t even know if Draco‘s even here.”   
  
“But the letter--” Raven started.   
  
“Was a letter,” Theodore finished for her. “We can’t be sure if--”   
  
“It was his writing, Theo. Calm down. It’s all going to be fine.” Blaise rose his brows at his friends. “You’re hungry. Let’s go eat.”   
  
Theodore’s stomach chose the opportune moment to growl loudly. Raven and Blaise smirked. He refused the urge to ground. He did his best to look dignified as he walked out the door.   
  
This didn’t bode well.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Hermione pinned up Ginny’s hair. “Why aren’t you getting ready?” Ginny asked Hermione, looking at her friend in the mirror. So far, all Hermione had done to get ready was curl her hair in rags.   
  
Hermione didn’t look at her friend and stayed focused on the ball of red hair in front of her. “My dress will be coming in about half an hour before the ball.”   
  
“What color is it?” Ginny asked, smoothing out her own silk, peach, skirts. Her bust line was rather low, but not indecently. Just enough to give a peek as to what she had. The color flattered her freckles and eyes. Her fire-engine hair actually looked decent with the gown.   
  
For want of a better word, she looked like a sweet piece of candy. It was  _sweet,_  but not seductive. Hermione had smiled with relief when she saw. _Not much competition there._  The only con was that Ginny and Harry had a history. The pro was that he didn't know she was here... A second later, Hermione felt disgusted. She was about to trounce her friend’s love.   
  
“Lilac,” Hermione answered, thinking of the first innocent color that popped to mind. She tried to keep her blush under control after she lied.   
  
Ginny didn’t seem to notice. “What’s in that box?“ She asked Hermione, looking pointedly at the Hermione’s dress box.“   
  
“Just some laces and stays to wear under my dress. The other ones were too small.“   
  
“Ah,“ Ginny said. “I see.“   
  
Hermione almost cried at her victory. She felt horrible, lying to her best friend. But the sooner this game was over, the better _. She’ll understand, I know she will. She_ has  _to._  She put on more pin in place. “Finished!” Hermione announced.   
  
Ginny picked up her mask, and batted her lashes at Hermione. “Do you think Harry will like it?”   
  
Hermione something pulse with pain inside. She smiled. “He’ll be surprised for sure. He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?” She inquired.   
  
“No, I decided not to see him. I’ll surprise him with a kiss or something at the ball tonight,” Ginny said, eyes bright.   
  
 _Not if I can help it,_ Hermione thought instantly. She turned to see Cho in a light blue gown cut very modestly. She was to be the future queen, after all. The wigs would freak out if they saw her in anything other than modest. Hermione smirked to herself.  _Perfect._  
  
Ginny stood up and linked arms with Cho. Parvati and Padma followed in hot pink and orange dresses. Hermione fought a laugh. Cho tilted her head up at Hermione, eyes looking down her nose through her mask. Hermione gave her a little bow. Ginny looked at her friend. “We’ll see you there?” She asked, eyes peeking at her through her peach mask.   
  
“I’ll be there,” Hermione answered _. Finally, something_   _truthful._    
  
Ginny gave her another dazzling smile. “I’ll be looking for a dash of lilac!”   
  
Hermione gave her back a tight smile as they walked through the door. “You do that,” she muttered.   
  
All that was left was Pansy. Hermione felt a rush of anticipation run through her veins. She would deal with that when she got there. Improvisation was always part of the game.   
  
Especially when one was a Pirate in Lady’s clothing.   
  
This was going to be interesting.   
  


* * *

  
  
Night was coming quickly. It was already getting dark outside: Chaos often came in a cloak of black. Everyone was going to be the ball tonight. Pirates and Nobles alike. Choas was going to wreck havoc soon. It was going to be a  _party._ And everyone knows, that where ever the party is...   
  
Draco looked at his candle-lit reflection as his capable fingers twisted his own cravat into a handsome knot. He ran his hand through his faux brown hair, his new blue eyes assessing the movement. He looked rather smashing. Although he would have looked better as his usual self. He twisted his foot around, making sure that the dagger that he had concealed there wouldn't cut him. Once he was done, he looked back at the man in the mirror.  
  
He had drank his last bottle of potion. It would last him until one in the morning. He was sure he wasn’t going to stay much longer at the ball than that. It wouldn’t take but five minutes to seduce Hermione Granger.   
  
And by the results of this morning’s experiment, it might not even take two. He looked down at the words written on the little paper laying innocent  the wooden surface of the dresser and smirked at his own genius.   
  
 _My name is Draco Malfoy._  
  
It hadn’t taken him but a few hours to come up with his new, dashing alias:  _Dommanic Aymes Lafroy._    
  
And she had fallen for _every_  bit of it. Not even a single suspicion on her face. It had been an enormous success. He almost enjoyed her falling into his arms this morning. Too bad she was a Mudblood.   
  
However, despite that fact, his luck never ceased to amaze him. The fates did all his dirty work for him. He had been looking for her, and there she was. In his bloody  _arms._ Everything worked out better than planned. It was all going to work. The seducing part, he had initially thought was going to be hard. Now, he realized, it was going to be a piece of cake. He wanted  _that_  to go his way. And it would.   
  
He gave himself another dashing grin in the mirror. The black jacket and breeches were a stark contrast to the white cravat and shirt beneath. His white stockings even looked dashing. He knew he’d look better as himself, but this was a close second. He’d live with it. For now.  
  
He smirked and picked up the red rose off of the dresser. He gave himself one more look over and then blew out the candle. In the dim gray light of the room, he saw the smoke curling up from where the flame had just been.  He pulled out his simple black mask from his pocket, and put it on. He turned from the mirror, a smirk lighting up his face, and walked out the door, and into the night, rose in hand.   
  
He was dressed for seduction, melting, and molding any woman tonight with his capable hands and piano playing fingers. He may look like a Dommanic Aymes Lafroy, but underneath the skin, he was still a Malfoy. He was  _Draco Malfoy,_ for Merlin's sake.  _No_  one, not even Granger, he conceded, could resist _that_. But if she tried, then…. His sexy smirk transformed slowly into a delicious grin as a thought struck him.   
  
 _Then, maybe I’ll just get lucky._


	25. Twisted Masquerade: Part 1

_Masquerade._    
  
You hear the word, a shiver goes down your spine, and you think: masks, strangers, forbidden love, kisses at midnight…   
  
Wrong, wrong, wrong.   
  
Except for the masks, of course. Those are a necessity; Like you can have a  _masquerade_  without  _masks_. Right.   
  
Anyway, there are no strangers in a masquerade. If a guy ends up kissing the wrong girl, well, then it’s his fault he forgot to put on his contacts. Or maybe he‘s just that unobservant (blind, perhaps)kid who doodles in class. In fact, most people (who don’t doodle in class) know everyone else there. Unless they don’t know you’re there, then, of course, no one knows it’s you behind the mask. Until you open your mouth.   
  
Sounds like fun, huh? For years upon years, in stories upon stories, masquerades are the object of the most cliché tales in the world. Boy who hates girl meets girl who hates boy, they  _dance_  (which is completely ridiculous, right?), then kiss underneath the disco ball (kiss?!?), or the moon, or whatever the shining luminous object is (a mosquito killer would be a brilliant one for a change), but  _kissing?_   _Really_?   
  
They’ve been looking into each other’s eyes for the past however minutes  _dancing,_  and they really don’t recognize the person that they’ve hated for whatever amount of given years that their flaming, reputation gaining, ‘I’d rather punch you than walk in the same hallways as you do’ animosity had been taking place?   
  
Mhmm.  _Totally_ believable. And,  _oh!_  I haven’t even gotten to the very best part. It’s my absolute favorite. Note the extreme sarcasm. And by extreme, I mean radical, intense, ect. You get the point. Anyway, back to  _my_ point. After they dance (preposterous), then kiss (skeptical), the clock strikes  _twelve,_  (Let’s all copy Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, shall we my darling plagiarists who couldn‘t use one in the morning…), they take off their masks and act surprised.   
  
 _Surprised,_  of  _all_ things. Rage would be great! The guy would smirk, and the girl would get a vase and smash it over his head. Or something. One of them  _had_  to know it was the other one. Someone was jerking around the other person. Because we all know that two people who hate each other don’t just  _dance, kiss, talk_  and do only Merlin knows what else… and they have the gall to act surprised when the masks come off. Someone’s faking. Really, honestly, it  _never_  happens.   
  
Unless….   
  
Unless said boy who girl hates is deliciously devious. Then, boy oh boy, is girl who hates boy in trouble. Boy looks nothing like he normally does tonight. He’s wearing a disguise. Hence, unrecognizable. She won’t feel the need to hate him. Even his  _eyes_  will be different. She’ll be charmed, and maybe there will be dancing, maybe there will be kissing, but rest assured, he _knows_  exactly who she is. The whole entire time he toys with her.   
  
Perhaps later, there will be vase breaking as well….but I won’t make any promises.   
  
I’d tell you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the chapter, but I’d much rather have you sitting on the edge of your seat, tense to know what happens next, and screaming your bloody head off at my amazing cliffy at the end…..I’m collecting nickels for comments about those, by the way. But back to the occasion at hand:   
  
Please, put on your mask, get dressed, put on your rouge, and your … whatever it is that guys put on, and watch me sweep you a low bow with a flourish Take in my mischievous smile of things past and things yet to come.   
  
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, pirates and nobles, young and old, girl and boy, to my twisted masquerade.   
  


* * *

  
  
Harry looked on at the glittering crowd of people, waiting for the orchestra to string up a waltz, or something equally scandalous. Too bad the tango hadn’t been invented by now. Then things would have  _really_  gotten fun.   
  
The room was beautiful, the marble on the floor refused to scuff under the feet of the hundreds of people moving around on it. Drinks were flowing freely, the costumes otherworldly. It was a moving, yet utterly chaotic sight.   
  
His eyes took in the room from behind his tacky, gold mask. Of course, the Wigs thought that he should have the best of the best: He looked like the jolly star on the top of a Christmas tree from the 70’s. Dashing, he knew.   
  
His entire outfit was of a golden hue. He positively shone. If anyone mistook him for anyone else other than the king, well… Well.   
  
Ron ran up to Harry, his flouncy red hair unmistakable. His navy blue ensemble only made it appear redder. He flashed a grin to his friend. “Why, your highness! Don’t you look…” Ron paused for a moment, running his eyes over Harry, “Cute.”   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah,  _cute._  Very manly, Ron.” He looked over his best friend. “And don’t you look  _beautiful_?”   
  
Ron laughed. “Touché.”   
  
Harry’s eyes scanned over the crowd. Ron nudged him with elbow, pointing at a girl in a light blue dress. “Your bride to be is looking dashing, buddy.”   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’d think she’d want to be a queen.”   
  
Ron looked at him, eyes puzzled. “What are you talking about?”   
  
Harry looked at the boy she was dancing with. “I’ll give you one guess as to who’s knocking his shoes and twirling in a scandalous fashion in the air with her.”   
  
Ron snorted. “The only person who knocks his shoes and twirls is Neville.”   
  
Harry gave him a pointed look. Ron looked at him, puzzled. Harry raised his eyebrows. Ron’s mouth fell open. “You’re… you’re kidding, right? Cho… Cho and Neville?” Ron’s eyebrows flew into his hairline. “That’s absolutely bonkers!”   
  
Harry gave him a small grin. “That it is. You know, I’m almost jealous. "  
  
Ron’s face fell to pieces. “Of  _Neville_?” He looked at his green eyed friend, whose face was completely serious.   
  
Harry shrugged, face serious. “Maybe he’s a better kisser than me.”   
  
“No, he isn't." Then, Ron stopped, thinking about what he had said. "Not that I would know that you're a good kisser, or that he's a good kisser," he faltered, then glared at his friend. "Bloody hell, Harry. I'm  _not_  a homosexual!"  
  
Harry ignored him "And he’s a better dancer.”   
  
Ron's face went puzzled. What was he on about...  
  
“Not to mention his entrancing, beautiful doe eyes--”   
  
Ron saw the twinkle in Harry’s eyes. “Oh, shove of, Harry!”   
  
Harry gave Ron a wide grin. “April Fools?”   
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “It’s not even April…. Wait. What month is it?” Ron asked, a perplexed look on his face.   
  
Harry’s face went puzzled. “You know… I don’t really know either. Maybe we should ask a wig of something--”   
  
Ron gave him a death glare. “We are not asking the Wigs for  _anything._  They. Are.  _Psychotic_ ,” he whispered. “Like penguins. The hair only looks cuddly. It‘s sodding  _fake_. Or did you not get that already?”   
  
Harry laughed out loud, causing many heads in the room to turn his way. The ball had started perhaps an hour ago, and many people had begun to arrive. Harry recognized some of them. “Say, Harry, isn’t that Luna?”   
  
Harry’s eyes went to the shock of blonde dancing alone in the room. There was a goofy smile located under the pale pink mask, long fair hair falling in a single braid down a slim back. Harry found the urge in his lips to grin like a goof. He indulged himself, and let his lips twirl into a grin, as Luna leaped into the air like a feather. His eyes went from her and scanned the room, recognizing the way that Seamus stood, and then, his eyes landed on a head of red hair.   
  
A very red, very familiar head of female hair. Harry felt his heart stop.   
  
 _Ginny._    
  
Without knowing it, his feet moved beneath him, carrying him  to her. He couldn’t believe it. He felt a bright smile brighten up his face as he moved through the crowd. He was moving so quickly, that he plowed right into someone causing his feet, and the unfortunate person that hed ran into's feet to fly into the air, knocking them both off balance. His hands reached out quickly and grasped the person's waist,  _Female_ , he instantly decided; he twisted so that his back fell to the floor: she ended up on top of him.   
  
His eyes shut at the impact. For a moment, he kept them closed. Whoever she was, she was curvy. In fact, she felt perfect on top of him, as they fell to the floor. Her dress felt like sin beneath his hands. She was breathing into his neck. “Sorry,” she muttered into his neck.   
  
Harry felt a rush of heat run through his body. “It’s alright,” he murmured into the hair.   
  
 _Time to find out who this little klutz is,_  he thought. His eyes opened to a head of hair. Of very familiar tousled, yet tamed brown hair.   
  
She rolled off of him, and then, his green eyes crashed with hers.   
  
His stomach plummeted to the floor.   
  
 _“Hermione?”_    
  
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione stood in the shadows that were just off the stage she was setting. It was as if she was on the precipice and she was about to jump off the cliff. To go, or not to go? Her body thrummed with nervousness. This moment mattered. She was tired of this game. She  _had_ to be successful. She wasn't entertaining any other options.  Everything, everyone here depended on it. She was tired of people changing, people preying on other people. She was going to bring an end to it.   
  
...  
  
In a dress that was fit for a prostitute on the corner of first street. A smile tugged on her lips with the irony. What an original hero outfit. She even had a cape to match.   
  
She clutched her cloak to her, her fingers refusing to unpinch the front of the cloak. She knew what she had to do, she just didn’t want to do it. She did, but… Would it compromise her?   
  
Hermione bit her lip. She had never cared about what people thought about her before now. But, on the same note, she had never been dressed like this before. Not in private, and thank Merlin, never in public. Until now.   
  
She looked at her fingers and forced them to open; they let the cloak loose. Her white corset top shone in the shadows, a beacon of light. Hermione drew in a deep breath.   
  
Her feet stepped out into the light. This was it, this was the moment--   
  
Suddenly, someone crashed into her. Before she could make a sound, someone’s hands grabbed her waist and twisted her so that she fell on top of them.   
  
 _Dommanic._  Her first thought made her woozy. Then she felt the heat of his body beneath hers. She almost sighed contentedly. “Sorry,” she said, suddenly embarrassed. Here she was, on a dance floor, laying on top of someone. Well, if that wasn’t publicly compromising, she didn’t know what was.   
  
“It’s alright.”   
  
Hermione went still. She knew that voice. She knew that voice…. Suddenly, she got up, slowly, as not to alarm him. She needed a second to hide the flush on her cheeks. It wouldn’t go away. She rolled off of him, and got onto her knees. Her eyes met his green ones; they were shocked. _“Hermione?“_    
  
His eyes were surprised. His eyes traveled slowly down her dress: her cape had fallen off her shoulders. He looked back up, trying not to look beneath her neck, and gulped. This was  _Hermione._  Hermione Granger, know-it-all, extraordinaire, his _best friend_. For a moment, none of these reasons would register.   
  
“Harry,” she said, voice parched. This was  _bad._  This was _very_  bad. Her eyes tore from his and she looked around; her heart stopped. There was a circle of gaping people around them. So much for being inconspicuous and having the element of surprise…   
  
Then, it hit her.   
  
Oh Merlin. He was the  _king._  How had she forgotten? Everyone knew what he looked like. He was impossible to miss in his strapping gold outfit that could be seen from Mars. “I mean, your highness,” Hermione said, scrambling up and dropping into a curtsy.   
  
Harry just gaped at her from the floor for a second, his eyes catching a glimpse of thigh. Oh, my, this was not good. He stood up, slowly, looking anywhere but at Hermione. He gave a brave smile that he didn’t feel, and smiled at the crowd that had gathered, and held his hands up. “Just an accident. Nothing to see here,” He gave them another smile and gave Hermione a meaningful look that clearly said, “We’ll talk later.”   
  
Hermione gave him a nod. With that he disappeared into the crowd to go and play king again. Hermione dusted off her dress, and leaned down to get her cloak, the only shred of modesty that she had started with, that was now sullied on the floor.   
  
Just as her fingers almost reached it, a pair of long, pale, piano playing fingers flashed out and grabbed it for her. “Let me.”   
  
A shock of electricity and warmth ran through her body . She turned around slowly, meeting those thrilling blue eyes. “Dommanic.”   
  


* * *

  
  
Draco arrived fashionably late. It was never the rage to come early, as most people had. He smirked, the foreign lips twisting into a familiar expression. They must have not learned their manners when they were younger. After all, not everyone could be a Malfoy, and he was the best. He went up the stairs, nodding his head at the footmen.   
  
His eyes shone from beneath his plain black mask. There were no embellishes, no sequins, glitters. He was murder in and in of itself. Murder doesn’t have to be complicated; It needs to be simple. One shot, is all it takes.   
  
He tugged the ties on the back, wincing slightly when the ties cut above his ear.  _Merlin, but these things are bloody uncomfortable._    
  
He shifted it slightly, almost sagging in relief when the little pinprick went away. He looked at his hands; they were the only things of his own that he had kept. He felt slightly uncomfortable. He knew how people would react to Draco Malfoy, but what about Dommanic Lafroy? It was a whole new ball game.   
  
He hadn’t even introduced himself to Harry. Which was going to be a  _major_  problem, because knowing Mudblood Granger, she had already told her best buddy about him. And until today, Dommanic Lafroy didn’t even exist.  _Just another thing to add to my list._  Draco frowned. There were too many things on that list. He should have planned it out better, he realized. But, oh well.   
  
While in his head he was concocting a plan, he nodded and gave smiles to people out from under his mask. It was almost like a carnival, the myriad of colors blinking up at him from everywhere. Glittering, sparkling, shining, pulling you in. It was almost enchanting… If he hadn’t been on a mission, perhaps even he would have enjoyed himself.   
  
It truly was a masquerade worthy of a king. Then he saw her.   
  
 _What is she doing here?_ His eyes narrowed at the slim Slytherin in the green dress worthy of Salazar Slytherin. Pansy was dancing with an extra, or that’s all he could make out from this distance. Her black hair shone from the complicated twist it was pulled in. Her dress was lower than his liking, showing almost all of what she was worth. Draco smirked. How  _typical_  of Pansy. All the young green gills were gaping at her as if she was the first female that they had ever seen.   
  
His eyebrows furrowed. He knew it was her, yet it simply couldn’t be her. Last time he had checked, she was dead. To the game, that is. But, it didn't matter. She was here, and he couldn't deny that fact. He stored the information for later as his eyes flickered over to the Kings Court, which was really just a little platform where the king was supposed to sit.  _And of course, Harry blooming Potter and his little sidekick can do what they want._  They were standing, of course. He watched Ron push Harry and laugh.   
  
Something twisted in his stomach, but he pushed it away with a sneer. His sneer faded as he saw Ron’s expression, even beneath the mask, turn from happiness to something… Lust?   
  
 _Weasley can lust? Is that even allowed?_  Draco angled himself, and looked where Ron was looking.   
  
Oh, this was just too good. Ron and  _Pansy?_  He hoped he knew who he was looking at, because if Weasley even knew the half of that which is Parkinson, he wouldn’t be looking her way like that.   
  
Draco felt puzzled, but then pushed it away. It wasn’t  _that_ unusual. Ron was just like any other guy. At least… Draco thought Ron was. Actually, Draco personally thought Ron was a flaming homosexual, but that's all fine and dandy. It was completely normal for someone to lust after Pansy. She had her own appeal. Of course, everyone knew that Harry thought that she was pug-faced, but that’s just the way it was. Harry wasn’t ever much into Slytherins.   
  
Draco smirked at the thought. Perhaps Potter  _was_ gay, as he’d always suspected. If nothing, Harry’s gold ornament costume made him a dashing little fruit. He watched Harry’s expression turn to surprise. Draco’s eyes zeroed onto where Harry was looking, and he felt his alias’ eyebrows raising in surprise.   
  
He hadn’t known that Weaslette was here either. Well, tonight was just full of surprises. Before he knew it, his nemesis was walking towards the red-head with fierce intent in his step. Draco decided, impromptu, to follow.   
  
The crowd moved _for_  him. It was as if he had his own bubble, and no one could touch it, lest they die by touching the filmy surface. He smirked with this thought. Suddenly, a gasp flew through the room as the king fell down.   
  
Draco walked quicker, to get in before the crowd surrounded him. When a few seconds passed, he immediately assumed the best.  _Potter’s dead?_    
  
When a flash of blue light failed to appear, Draco felt his heart sink, just a little. He frowned and pushed someone aside. No one questioned his appearance.   
  
His mouth fell open.   
  
Who was _that_ , on  _top_  of Potter, in that  _provocative_  dress? He could see all the way up to her lovely fair-skinned thigh. He swallowed hard, and clenched his fists.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he heard a voice say in the silence. A woman’s voice. A _familiar_  voice. He tried to place it. It was right in the back of his mind…   
  
“It’s alright,” he heard Potter say. Draco almost snorted.  _What a great pickup line_. Then, he almost regretted thinking it. He might not have been able to say anything at all if a creature like that was on top of his body. In fact, he knew he'd be doing something far more productive and pleasurable with a creature like that on top of him. Like not talking, for example. He'd make sure they wouldn't be able to talk, breath even.   
  
Suddenly, the air in the room busted with tension. It had been almost thirty seconds since the king was down. Surely someone should be getting up. Surely this wasn’t protocol! Where were the guards--?   
  
Suddenly, the girl rolled off of Harry. And then he knew. He knew before Harry even said her name. He had seen that body roll and twist and evade him constantly.  _Granger._    
  
She was falling on people, yet  _again_ , which wasn’t anything knew. However, the fact that it was Potter… Well, he didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t know why, he just didn’t.   
  
His eyes were glued to the back of her dress for a moment. His fists clenched more. He took another look as Harry’s face went white as possible. He knew the feeling. In fact, he was sure that he looked the same. It was odd, being able to be on the same page as ‘The one who lived.’   
  
His eyes flickered to the other people standing around. Their faces were shocked, surprised. He could have sworn someone with a wig looked murderous. At the Granger or at the king, he wondered.   
  
He watched as Hermione got up, her moves a lot rougher than any lady’s. She wasn’t graceful, that was for sure. But something about her presence, and the way that she got up spoke confidence. Today, it seemed to have a dent.   
  
Then he noticed the black cloak on the floor, and smirked. All he saw was her back: the front of her dress eluded him, but from the expression on the people’s faces who  _did_ , well, it must be quite a front to see. Perhaps she looked completely _ugly_. In fact, Draco hoped that she did. Hopefully, it was horrific.   
  
Well, while he was in disguise, he could find out. Still charm her, of course, from intense sympathy, and when he was himself, he could rub it in her face and perhaps, even make the little Mudblood cry. It would be an interesting sight to see.   
  
He watched her drop a rough curtsy, it wasn’t as low as it should be, it was so rustic, she seemed to be a beginner. Either that or she hadn’t been practicing. His lip quirked up at that. Finally, something that the know-it-all couldn’t do. It gave him a little bit of relief. He saw Harry gave her a nod, reassured his people with confidence that Draco was  _sure_  that the hero didn’t have at the moment, due to the horrifying front of her dress. What luck to have been here.   
  
Then, all of the people went back to their dances as another reel was spun into the air by the fine orchestra. Hermione still stood there, back to him.  _Time to shake things up a little bit._  He really wanted to see what had intimidated the Boy who killed the most evil wizard alive. Surely, it had to be  _terrible._  
  
She started to bend over, but he beat her to it as he nimbly leaned down and snatched her cloak from the ground. “Let me.”   
  
She turned around, slowly. Her movements informed him that she knew exactly who he was. The thought almost gave him a feeling of elation. She had been expecting him.   
  
Then, she faced him full on. He forgot how to breathe. His heart shuddered to a stop. He almost wasn’t able to stop his mouth from falling open.  _I can’t gape at her like an idiot!_  He scolded himself. But he knew… Oh he _really_  could. It wouldn’t be at all that difficult.   
  
He kept his expression guarded as his eyes traced her features. She was wearing makeup, for the first time he had seen her. Her usual honey eyes were cat eyes tonight, the black smudging around them giving her a secretive look. Her eye brows were filled and shaped, plucked, it seemed. They arched over her plain white mask leisurely. Her lips were full, a deep shade of a color that he couldn’t name. His eyes traveled further.   
  
Oh Merlin. He was in trouble. He clenched his fists.  
  
 _Big trouble._    
  


* * *

  
  
He didn’t smile at her. Didn’t say her name, even. Hermione refused the urge to bite her lip. She looked at his face, trying to decipher his expression. Something wasn’t right. His eyes seemed to be taking her in. As his face traveled down from her face to her dress, she held her breath, and kept looking at his face.   
  
Nothing. She got  _nothing._  She looked back up, over his features, half covered by the mask. His eyes were as beautiful as she remembered, the blue still shocking her. His lips were the lightest pink. Something about him though… His presence, his voice, just…. His mannerisms triggered something in her brain, as if she knew him. Her ring burned lightly. It happened fairly often since she had gotten here.   
  
She had puzzled over it for a while, and realized logically, that it was just reminding her of the bet. For that, she was thankful. Sadly, though, she had no idea where to start. She had no idea where he was, and how the heck she was supposed to make him want to kiss her. A Mudblood.  
  
He had tried intimidating her into kissing him but surely, that didn’t mean anything. He was  _Draco Malfoy,_  for Merlin’s sake.   
  
She pushed the thought of Draco from her mind, and pursued her examination of the very fine specimen of man before her. He was  _beautiful._  His skin was--   
  
“You’re supposed to be wearing black.”   
  
His sinful voice nearly shocked her out of her skin. It was sulky, almost amusedly so. Hermione’s lips curved into a smile, making him frown even more. “I had one, but it wasn’t quite daring enough.”   
  
This brought a smile to his face. “Daring enough? You don’t seem to sure of yourself in this one,” he answered, those blue eyes traveling down her dress slowly, lingering in some spots that made her hot all over. She didn’t know that it was possible to feel undressed in a room full of people. She took a deep breath.   
  
“The knife strapped to your upper thigh is a nice touch.”   
  
Her eyes flew up to his, surprised. He had seen the knife?  _When?_    
  
He gave her a merciless smile that gave her no answers and took her elbow forcefully. “We’re going dancing.”   
  
Hermione suddenly felt her skin burn hotly where his hand held her. She tried to tug away, but failed. “Are we now?” She hissed at him.   
  
He turned to her, eyes serious, but his mouth was curved into a wicked smile. “I want to know what it’s like to dance with a Pirate.”   
  
She tried to jerk her hand away again. He was surprising her at every turn. “How do you know about that?” she gasped.   
  
“The walls talk, darling. The scar on your face tells it‘s own story,” he said, reaching up and tracing the ‘X‘ on her face, an unascertainable expression in his eyes. “How’d you get that by the way?”   
  
Hermione was rendered speechless. It took her a moment to gain her “I’ve killed people in this game before.”   
  
She was deflecting, he knew it. He laughed, the sound almost knowing. Several heads in the room turned to see who had been laughing. He didn‘t seem to care. “I imagine you did. But you won’t kill me.”   
  
Hermione stilled as he pulled her into his body for a waltz. It seemed almost practiced, as if he knew just where to put his hands. His fingers were flush against her back. Those long, piano playing fingers…   
  
“You seem confident in that,” Hermione answered, as she followed his lead. She  _hated_  dancing.   
  
“Oh, that’s because I am,” He answered, smile wicked.   
  
“Why?”   
  
It was a simple question. The answer he gave her was the last thing she expected.   
“Because I’m not the one you’re after.”   
  
Hermione stopped breathing. She tried to step away from him during the dance, but that seemed to be a bad idea. “You don’t want to do that.”   
  
Hermione breathed hard, as his feet spun her out of control. She would fall if he let her go. “Why not?” She breathed, eyes narrowed. She was _angry_. With herself. She wasn’t here for him, and here he was  _distracting_  her, Malfoy could be here, watching her from two feet away with a pistol in his hand, and she would be able to do nothing.   
  
But he wouldn’t kill her. She knew that. He needed her, as funny as that was. She focused back on Dommanic. “Because, you’ll fall. And I won’t catch you. You’ll have to get up yourself.”   
  
Hermione’s brows furrowed. What did that mean? “You won’t drop me.”   
  
“How do you know that?” he asked, smirking at her.   
  
Merlin, something was so familiar about that.   
  
Then, her eyes glittered with smugness. Her lips twisted into a smirk of their own. Oh, he didn’t like that expression. “Because you didn’t drop me before.”   
  
“Before?”   
  
“The first time we met.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
And Draco Malfoy was rendered speechless.   
  
Because, as always, the know-it-all was right.   
  
 _How suprising._ Then, he realized that he  _was,_  in fact, suprised.  
  
He twirled her around quickly, as if that would shake up her logical thoughts and make them illogical. He only had one weapon left in his arsenal. He was going to have to charm her, because, apparently. that was the only thing that shook her.  
  
For a moment, he didn't know if he could do it. He would be pouring his valuable charm on a  _Mudblood_  who wouldn't even be able to appreciate it. He clenched his jaw.  
  
Sometimes one has to do what they have to do.  
  
And sometimes, they would like it...   
  


* * *

  
  
Harry found her. She was not more than ten feet away, but suddenly, he felt unworthy of her presence. He had just ogled his friend, his  _best_ friend, for goodness sake.   
  
His best friend that he was going to have a really serious talk with. Didn’t she know that what she was wearing was  _dangerous?_  She had to know. She knew it  _all._  Yet somehow, he knew that she didn't know the full effect her dress was having on people. Harry clenched his fists. It made him almost angry.   
  
Almost.   
  
Which was precisely the problem. He looked at the Ginny, who was laughing lightly, her light mask highlighting her Weasely eyes. She was so beautiful that it hurt. He wasn’t really worthy of her. He was a downright legitimate bastard.  
   
He felt like going to wash his eyes out with soapy water. Yet some perverse part wanted to abandon Ginny in search of his best friend.   
  
His bloody best friend.   
  
He groaned inwardly and turned away from Ginny. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Manhood was a royal pain in the rear. Literally royal, and a real blood pain. He was engaged to marry Cho, was in love with a girl not even twenty feet away from him, and had just, moments earlier, lusted over his best friend.   
  
 _This is so messed up,_  Harry conceded as he ran his hand through his hair, his eyes glancing around involuntarily for Hermione.   
  
Her image was printed into his mind. Her wide, doe eyes that were too large for her face were hidden behind her simple white mask, her mouth dropped open in surprise. When she got up, he saw clear up to the garter on her thigh. The laced corset in the back, the feel of her on top of him…  
  
 _Bloody hell._  Harry clenched his fists and took a deep breath.   
  
This was going to be a long night.   
  
And with that thought, he went off to search for Hermione. It was time to figure out what in Merlin’s name was going on. Ginny could wait five minutes. He needed to get this cleared out first. He had to know what Hermione was up to. He was curious.   
  
And then, there was that teensy-weensy part of him that wanted to see her in that dress again.   
  
Harry tried his best not to slap himself.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
Ron tapped the shoulder of the sod that was dancing with Pansy. Who was, coincidentally, also staring down her dress. Which made him an even bigger sod. The guy turned around, and Ron stumbled back.   
  
It was a wig. What was Pansy doing with a WIG?   
  
“Can I have the next dance?” Ron asked, not taking the time to hide his anger. She was hiding things from him, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. He didn’t even look at her dress that was getting a million glances from the room. He might be a lusty teen, but he knew how vain she was. He couldn’t indulge her. Then again, if he looked at her dress, he knew he’d be lost. So, his eyes zeroed in on her face instead as he put his hands around her waist.  _Don’t look down, don’t look down…_    
  
“ _Can_  you dance, Ronald? I was under the impression that you were a great hulking brute.”   
  
Her voice was sharp, edged as it usually was; her mean words sharpened like knives. He ignored them. “If you won’t give me this dance, I’ll take it.”   
  
Pansy arched a brow as the music started; her hand was still by her waist. She leaned closer, trying to get him to look down her dress. “You’ll have to steal it,” she whispered throatily.   
  
Ron refused the urge.  _Don’t look down, don’t look down…_  “Fine then,” he answered smoothly as he grabbed her waist with his hand and forced her hand onto his shoulder. He took the first step; she almost stumbled.   
  
He saw her lips part to retort or say something nasty, but then, she closed it. Perhaps thinking it better not to cause more of a scandal than her dress already had.   
  
They danced for a few moments, her green eyes that matched her Merlin’s-most-kinky-fantasy dress glancing over his shoulders several times. Then, as if she knew he noticed, she brought her green eyes, framed by her mask, to his. She arched a brow, “So, are you going to compliment me on my looks or are we going to talk about the weather?”   
  
Ron’s expression lightened a little bit. “Ah, the weather, what would we socialites do without it? Simply  _die,_  I’m sure.”  _Just keep talking, Parkinson, and everything will be just fine._  His eyes hurt from looking straight at her for so long.   
  
She felt like a willow in his arms. A willow with curves, anyway. She moved lightly, while his feet were slow to move with the music. He was tall, and, as his Quidditch proved time and again, he wasn’t very coordinated. Which was why he loved his job so much. He didn’t really have to fight to be the general.   
  
He just had to tell  _other_  people to fight. Convenient, that was.  
  
The girl in his arms looked at him, an odd look in her eyes. “It’s possible.”   
  
They danced for a few more moments, and the song came to a close. She looked at him, and curtsied; he looked over her head. She stood back, her spine straight, breasts thrust out, begging for him to look.   
  
He didn’t. For some reason, he almost wished she wouldn’t act so materialistic and sexual. He knew there was something more there, something smarter than the vain, look obsessed girl she showed everyone else.   
  
She saw someone come up to ask for her hand, but she declined, and looked at Ron. “Would you like to steal another dance?”   
  
He raised one red brow at her. “You’re the Pirate, remember?”   
  
She stepped into his arms, eyes searching his for a moment. She didn’t say anything. Unless he was completely wrong, he could swear that she was frowning. They danced for a few seconds. “Do you like my dress, Ronald?”   
  
Ron fought a grin and a sigh of defeat. At the same time. His mouth remained straight, lost between the two. He looked her in the eyes, still not looking down. “It’s lovely.”   
  
Her frown deepened. “You didn’t even look,” she whined.   
  
Ron grinned at her now. “You don’t know that.”   
  
“Oh, but I do,” she answered.   
  
Ron thanked the chorus when the music stopped playing. “Would you like some punch?” He asked.   
  
Pansy put her arm in his. “Of course, I would.  _Punch._  How _thrilling.”_    
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it doesn’t even begin to compare with the Pirate life, but punch… Punch is  _safe_.”  _Unlike your dress,_  he wanted to add.  
  
Pansy snorted. “Unless it’s spiked.”   
  
Ron shrugged. “It might be. There _are_  Pirates in the room., after all.”   
  
He had meant only her. Then, at that moment, his eyes went over her shoulder. And he saw them…   
  
Blaise’s dark skin was unmistakable, he was the only one here with it. Beside him was that silly dirty blonde Slytherin who was chummy with Pansy all the time, and then…   
  
 _Oh, no._    
  
Theodore Nott was gazing out into the crowd, hawk eyes narrowed, searching for something..   
  
“They’re all here,” Ron said in horror. “Every single one of them.”   
  
His startled eyes came to Pansy’s, over his punch. “What’s going on?”   
  
Pansy shrugged, “I don’t know. Something big, presumably.”   
  
Ron put his punch on the table. “I have to tell Harry. Right now,” he said, turning his back on her and made to walk over to Harry.   
  
Her hand gripped his bicep and pulled him back around. “Or you could run away with me for an hour.”   
  
Ron, already anxious, felt the hot breath on his ear, the sultry whisper. Oh, it had been too long… “But Harry--”   
  
“Harry can wait.”   
  
Ron, suddenly, got angry. He turned around to face her. “Harry is my  _friend_. I owe you, not them. I need to let him know so he can kill them.”   
  
“Walk with me for a minute so I can tell you about how bad of an idea that is,” Pansy suggested, her green eyes twinkling at him, tempting him. _Don’t look down…_  
“Pansy--”   
  
“Ronald.”   
  
Her tone left no room for discussion. “Unless you want me to tell everyone about your being indebted to me, I think you should come with me.”   
  
She could almost hear his teeth grinding together. He knew he was a fool sometimes, but he didn’t like being made the fool.   
  
She took his arm and they walked down several hallways. She walked past several rooms, and they entered the library. She let go of his arm and walked over to the books, running her hands down the ancient dusty volumes.   
  
Ron crossed his arms. Harry had to know now, and she was… alone. With him. In a room. With that dress. Oh, no. This could only end in tragedy. “Talk.”   
  
“About what, Ron?” She purred his name, and walked up to him. “I thought you just wanted to be alone with me.”   
  
Ron cursed and turned around. “You’re playing me for a fool, Pansy. I don’t like it. "  
  
She turned him around, and gazed up at him from under her mask, a smile curling on her lips. “We aren’t talking about the weather anymore, Ronald, are we?”   
  
It was almost as if she was asking permission for something.   
  
Ron’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.  _What’s the crazy bint on about now.._  “No, we aren’t.”   
  
Pansy sighed a dramatic sigh of relief. “Good, because now, I can do this.”   
  
She shimmied up to him and pushed her body against his. She titled up her head, “Ravish me, Ronald.”   
  
Ron gulped and then did what any boy would do by instinct. He looked down. His world went topsy-turvy. He leaned forward to kiss her, yet before he knew what was going on, she had grabbed a long dagger from inside her bosom and stabbed him in the heart. The last thing that he saw was her sad face, brows creased. “Draco made me.”   
  
Then, he disappeared in a flash of blue.   
  
The door burst open. Pansy stepped back, her hand at her throat. Then, she lowered it as she realized her good fortune. Her  _incredible_  fortune. As was her right, of course.   
  
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Longbottom and my, oh  _my_. The queen to be. Don’t you look simply  _ravished_?” Pansy taunted, as she stared into the shocked eyes of Neville and Cho. Cho looked completely in disarray, her dress rumpled and her hair unfastened.   
  
Pansy felt a wicked delight run through her body. What delicious information to have. And to think, it fell right into her lap. Or… walked right into her path, as it were. She smirked triumphantly, though she had done nothing to be triumphant. Thus was the life of a Slytherin. Triumph isn’t something they worked for, it was a privilege.   
  
It was given to them.   
  
The only thing that they had to sort out what do with these triumphs.   
  
Pansy looked at the couple. She could think of a few things, every single one of which benefited her. Which, of course, is the only way that triumphs like these are used. She looked out for number one, and no one else was more important.   
  
Then, Neville just had to speak. “You just killed Ron Weasley.” His voice was shocked, rightouess anger seeped from it.   
  
Her smirk froze on her face.   
  
Now what the  _hell_ was she supposed to do with  _that_?   
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione tried to keep up with the steps of the dance. He moved so fluidly, as if he was born dancing. However, she didn’t dare tell him that. It’d be the equivalent of calling him a fruit. She had this odd feeling that he wouldn’t really appreciate that. “Have you done this before?” she asked.  
  
He smirked lightly. “I took lessons when I was younger.”   
  
“Really, now? But guys don’t generally-”   
  
“Take dancing lessons?” He finished for her, brow raised, blue eyes amused, charming. “Are you calling me a fruit?”   
  
Hermione’s brows went up as she tried to cover for herself. “No! Of course not… Absolutely... How could you  _think_ …” She gave up. "No, I don't."  
  
“Well,” he said, expertly turning her, putting up with her rough smoothness, “If I  _was_  a fruit, would you convert me?”   
  
He pulled her up against his body and looked down at her, lips crooked in a devastating smile. Hermione’s knees went weak. “If you  _were_ fruit, that’d be a shame.”   
  
“Oh?” he asked, smiling down at her.   
  
Hermione bit her lip and not so accidentally stepped on his foot. “I’m sorry,” she said, slightly flustered, not knowing how to deal with him, other than to distract him from talking to her. She couldn’t think of anything smart to say back. It was the most foreign feeling. She wanted to impress him, but didn’t know how. So she stepped on his foot. Two steps forward, one step back? On his foot…   
  
He smirked at her, lips twisting sinfully, eyes looking down for a moment, and then back to her face. She flushed at his clear appraisal. “You look impressive.”   
  
“The dress--” Hermione started-   
  
“Is fitting for someone of your caliber to wear.”   
  
Hermione’s brows furrowed quickly. Someone of her caliber? “What is that supposed to mean?“   
  
“Nothing,” his eyes cold for a second, and then he gave her a wide hot, dazzling smile, reeling her senses. “You don’t dance too terribly.”   
  
“Did you expect me too?” Hermione asked, completely thrown off. She didn’t understand. He spoke as if he knew her before, as if he had known her for a long time… As if he could make those conclusions from the past memories that he had.   
  
He didn’t answer for a moment, eyes unreadable. Hermione was lost in his enigma. She didn’t understand a thing that was going on. For some reason, she suspected it was a lot more complicated than it looked: two people who had just met dancing. Something about him triggered something in her memory, but  _what?_    
  
“No,” he answered, in a voice that seemed to faintly surprise him as well. He twirled her around, and when he brought her back, his body wasn’t touching hers anymore. He kept her at a safe distance. Something had just happened, and she didn’t know what.   
  
Suddenly, the music stopped all too soon, and he let her go, his hands dropping to his sides. Her eyes dropped to his hands, that bittersweet ringing of familiarity zinging through her veins. “Have I met you before?” Hermione asked him. She was referring to before the game.   
  
His unascertainable eyes went warm again. “If we had, you’d have known it, love.”   
  
Suddenly, her eyes went wide. ‘Love,‘ he had called her. Who else had called her that? She tried to rake her memory, but she couldn’t bring up the particular moment. The way that he said it was  _so_  familiar. She looked up into his eyes, and then, felt the odd, irrational impulse to kiss him. His eyes were so close, he lips looked so soft… If she just leaned in a little further.   
  
For a moment, he was a simple breath above her lips, she could feel him breath in and out. She looked into his eyes. The heat that raced from their icy blue contours flashed heat through her body. She leaned into him, hands on his chest. His hands remained chaste on her hips. However, when he squeezed his fingers ever so much, it was anything but chaste. Hermione’s knees began to buckle; her eyes shuttered closed, as her body melted into his, the fight leaving her. “You see?” He whispered, right above her nose. “You would have remembered feeling like this.”   
  
But she  _had._ She had felt like this... Somewhere in her memories. Hermione whimpered lightly. “But to ravish a lady in public is grounds for exile, and I should like to see your face again, Lady Granger.”   
  
He stepped away from her, hand steadying her elbow as she wobbled lightly. Her eyes opened. “I’m not a lady,” she rasped.   
  
He looked her up and down, eyes lazily meeting hers again, letting her know that he knew just that. “I could only be so lucky.”   
  
He gave her a bow and kissed her hand. With a wink and no words, he left her in favor of the shadows. The heat left with him, leaving only a tingling remembrance in her core that he had been there. Her face was still hot.   
  
Her ring burned insistently again, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. The reminder.  _He_  was here somewhere; she could feel it. Something told her that he was. She looked around, scanning for a shock of blonde hair; she couldn’t see anything. The ring burned angrily again. Hermione tried to twist it loose, to relieve the pain, but it wouldn’t come off.   
  
She was bound to her promise.   
  
Suddenly, humiliation at Hogwarts seemed a big price to pay for something that she didn’t care about anymore. Winning against Malfoy would be pleasurable, yes, but it no longer consumed her. It didn’t matter anymore, not now that she felt this way.   
  
Nothing mattered, now that Dommanic was here.   
  
This conclusion baffled her. If was totally illogical, irrational, ect. Which was the reason that she liked it. Perhaps Piracy was a bad influence, and sodding sewing was to blame because she wanted something exciting for once in her life.   
  
Dommanic Aymes Lafroy.   
  
His very name was like sugar on her tongue, and Hermione liked sugar. She liked it a lot.   
  
So she decided to be impulsive. She set out to find him and snog him senseless. Not that she knew how, of course, but she’d cross that bridge when she got there.   
  
 _Maybe someone spiked the punch,_  she thought giddily. Then she realized, she didn’t care, and she stepped into the shadows, looking for trouble.   
  
And when trouble’s last name is wearing a seductive mask to make it even more tempting than it already was…   
  
Anything can happen.   
  
After all, this isn't just your average masquerade.


	26. Twisted Masquerade: Part II

Hermione walked through the dimly lit hallways, her heart racing oddly, her nerves humming. She felt nervous, the color was high in her cheeks. Not that you could see her cheeks; they were under her mask.   
  
She pulled the black coat tight around her, when she heard footsteps.  _Here he comes._  She tarried in that corner a moment longer so that someone could see her, and then she moved down another hallway where she had been earlier: where she had seen Pansy and Harry before.   
  
The Navigation Room.   
  
It didn’t look or sound terribly romantic, which was just how Hermione wanted it. She didn’t want to feel overly bad for what she was about to do. Only the wife would get to see the signet. Maybe she could steal it before then. Maybe… Hermione sighed. She didn’t know what she was going to do. In fact, she was about to do what she hated doing the most.   
  
Make it up as she went along.   
  
Hermione was usually a really big planner; organized, never a minute late, everything always went just right. And if not, she always had at least three back up plans.   
  
This was not the case. However, her yearly escapes with Harry had given her a little bit of insight on how to improvise. The stakes were high then, and the stakes were high now.   
  
She hurried down the hallway, when her breath caught in her throat. Was that a shock of blonde hair? She went very, very still for a moment, heart pounding loudly in her ears, ring burning lightly.   
  
No one was there.   
  
 _Great, now I’m_ seeing _things. What’s next in this bloody improvisation plan?_  
Hermione scanned the hall one more time, her eyes looking this way and that, trying to gauge the shadows. There was nothing but a statue of armor. Nothing but an old tin man. Wow, her imagination was working over-time.   
  
Without a second thought, she strode into the Navigation room, waiting for Harry. He would come, she knew that he would. He had to.   
  
Her fears were halted when the door creaked open. Harry walked in, eyes dark green in the darkness. “Why are you--”   
  
Hermione didn’t let him talk. She stood up and sauntered over towards him. Well, as well as a Pirate in Ladies clothing could. She was by no means sexy, but she had read many books. The only way to look beautiful was to feel beautiful.   
  
The way that Harry was looking at her right now made her feel… like a whore. She gulped lightly and pushed the thought away. That was the whole point of the her outfit was to make him want her. And if she was right, he did.   
  
“What are you up to, Hermione?” Harry whispered, as if the whole world was listening. She shook her head and pressed her body to his, slightly sickened at what she was about to do.   
  
She took her arms and put them around his neck, on hand pulling his lips down to hers…..   
  


* * *

  
  
Ron landed on his arse in the Great Hall. He cursed loudly, and scrambled up, dusting himself off. He was alone. Again. Fooled. Again. Duped by a pair of googly-eyes.   
  
Again.   
  
He kicked a wall, his anger leaving for a mere miniscule half second, and then the pain welled up in his foot causing him to yowl in pain.   
  
After several moments of hopping about, he let go of his foot, his big toe throbbing smartly in his shoe. He cursed again. “Bloody bad luck. Bloody Pansy. Bloody _mask_.” He ripped the fancy confection off of his face and threw it to the ground, his ears as red as his hair.   
  
He took in a deep breath, trying to will the pain pounding through his foot.   
  
“Well,  _that_ was entertaining.”   
  
Ron almost groaned as he turned, but then thought twice of it. “Nearly H--Sir Nicolas.” Ron finished turning, and forced his lips into a pained smile.   
  
The ghost was perched on one of the tables, a bushy translucent eyebrow raised. “How’s your foot?”   
  
“What foot?” Ron asked, innocent expression on his face. His fire-engine ears gave him away.   
  
The ghost chuckled. “You know, Weasley, I like you.”   
  
Ron’s cheeks started to hurt from smiling. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. “That’s great.”  _If you want me to say ‘I like you, too’ you’re out of your bloody mind! But of course,_  Ron didn’t add this. He was an oaf, but he wasn’t entirely stupid.   
  
Nearly Headless Nick looked around, and then looked over at Ron. “The Headmistress isn’t in today, but Professor Snape--”   
  
Ron groaned this time. “I  _can’t_ let him see me. He’ll patronize me, honest,” Ron pleaded.   
  
The ghost leaned over to him. “He’s an arse.”   
  
Ron’s eyes flew wide. “What did you just say?”   
  
“I beg your pardon?” Nearly Headless Nick asked with a sly smile.   
  
Ron simply shook his head, shocked. He had just heard a ghost say ’arse’. The end of the world was coming, he had no doubt.   
  
“I assume you don’t want Professor Snape sorting you, hmmm?” Nick trailed off, twirling his beard with a crooked finger.   
  
“It’s not like I have any other options,” Ron answered, rubbing his hand over his face, looking at the ghost through his fingers.  _You’d think going here for school for years, and I’d feel some sort of closeness to the dead guy._  That would have been true, had Nearly Headless Nick not popped his head out of Ron’s plate on the first day of school. Needless to say, when a growing boy’s food gets corrupted by a ghost, boy will never be happy. He’ll be hungry and cranky.   
  
Therefore, Ron never really got along with the ghost. Yet now, with the look that the ghost was giving him, Ron put it all behind him.   
  
“You mean, there’s not other options you’re considering, right?” Nick asked, and stopped twirling his beard.   
  
Ron’s heart lifted in hope. Not having to see Snape would brighten his day like there were a million more suns in the sky. And maybe some Christmas lights. Those  _always_  made him happy. “Well, I’d consider any option--”   
  
“That’s fortunate then, because all you have to do is open that door, and say what you want to be. The keys, however, are in Professor Snape’s office.”   
  
Ron’s face went white, and his mouth dropped open. “Surely, you’re not expecting me too--”   
  
“That’s your only other option.” He looked at Ron’s blanched face. “Oh, Come on! You’re the brother of the  _Weasley Twins,_  surely, this will be easy.”   
  
Ron shook his head. “They _never_  had the guts to break into Snape’s office. How am I even supposed to get in there?”   
  
Nearly Headless Nick shrugged. “The key is in his bedroom. So you‘d have to break into his office, and then his bedroom. He‘s a very paranoid fellow.”   
  
Ron looked at the dead man in disbelief. “ _You’ve_  been _spying_  on  _Snape?”_    
  
This was getting weirder by the minute.   
  
“I wouldn’t call it  _spying_ , exactly, but--”   
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Ron said quickly, cutting him off. He didn’t want to know what the ghost was doing with Snape. That was just too much for his pubescent mind. He wasn’t sure he could handle it. “How do you suggest I break into his office, much less get out of this room, which is  _locked,_ by the way. I’m not a bloody sorcerer!”   
  
“You have a wand, don’t you?”   
  
“A simple ‘ _Alohamora_ ’ isn’t going to work on Snape’s bedroom door," Ron scoffed. "It’s his sodding  _bedroom_. Merlin only knows what’s in there!” Ron felt panic blooming in his chest. This was beyond nuts. His brothers would have never attempted this. Not even Bill, who had his ear pierced even when threatened to have a spoon-spanking from mum.  _That_ was bloody serious.   
  
Nearly Headless Nick shook his head, amused. “Doesn’t mean this door won’t.”   
  
Then, the ghost got up and started walking through the wall.   
  
“Wait!” Ron called out moving quickly to the spot where the ghost had disappeared. “How the hell am I supposed to do this?”   
  
Nicks head popped out of the wall, Ron squealed and jumped back. “What the--”   
  
“Just be a Gryffindor, for Godric’s sake. It’s not that hard. If that Parkinson girl could do it, you can.” The head popped back into the wall, leaving Ron confused, angry, and nauseous.  _Pansy_  had done it?   
  
Well, if that didn’t get his blood running, he didn’t know what else would. The ghost was right. If she could do it, he could bloody do it too.   
  
Mission Suicide.   
  
Why didn't that sound like fun?  
  


* * *

  
  
Neville stood strong, doing his best not to waver under Pansy’s sharp green glare. She tilted her head slightly and raised a brow. “You’re drunk, Longbottom,” she accused smartly.   
  
Neville shook his head, a spark of anger lighting in his eyes. “I didn’t drink the punch.”   
  
Cho stood behind Neville, eyes still glazed over with shock and surprise.   
  
“Pity,” Pansy returned, crossing her arms. “The additive was so expensive.”   
  
Neville raised a brow. “You sure it cost you a lot?” He paused. “I’m sure one of your merry little band of Pirates just stole it. That‘s what you do, isn‘t it?”   
  
Pansy put on a totally innocent face. “Why, whatever are you taking about, Longbottom?”   
  
Neville narrowed his eyes and stepped in front of Cho, who still said nothing. “Stop trying to change the subject,” he breathed angrily. “You just murdered Ronald Weasley. Or have you already forgotten?”   
  
Pansy gave him a charming smile, her green eyes glittering dangerously. “I suppose it’s too much to hope you’ll forget? You used to be so forgetful. “   
  
  
Neville’s nostrils flared. “No.”   
  
“That is so inconvenient,” Pansy sighed dramatically. “Well then, since I really don’t feel like killing anymore people, and you’ve compromised yourself so unwittingly--”   
  
  
“What are you talking about?” Cho interrupted, finally speaking. “unwittingly? Compromised?” Cho prompted, hands on her hips.   
  
Pansy raised a delicate eyebrow. “You really want me to tell you?” Pansy asked. Cho remained silent. Pansy rolled her eyes. “ You’re a Ravenclaw, for Merlin’s sake. “You’re about to become the Queen. You’re having an  _affair_  with Longbottom behinds the King's back? That’s treason, if I’m not mistaken.”   
  
Cho narrowed her eyes. “You just killed a man Parkinson.”   
  
Pansy laughed, startling the couple. “How astute of you to notice that for the third time,” Pansy said. “How Ravenclaw of you.”   
  
Cho gasped in outrage, and Neville opened his mouth to speak his mind, when Pansy loftily lifted a hand, palm facing them. Neville shut his mouth, and glared at her. Cho didn’t even say a word.   
  
“I have a proposal for you,” Pansy said, outright. She would get nowhere, bargaining with a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor at the same time. If it was just him alone, she could probably had done it, but since the brain was here, she’d just have to be honest.   
  
Which killed her really. There was no fun in being honest.   
  
Neville looked at her, dark eyes narrowed and suspicious. Just like she knew he would look at her. Cho’s face finally had regained color, spots bright on her cheeks, yet her eyes were cool and assessing. She was already being logical. If anyone took Pansy seriously, it would be Cho. After the incident in the girl’s loo in Pansy’s third year, well… Cho was pretty wary of her. Pansy was vicious and would do anything to get what she wanted, Cho knew that.   
  
So Cho would listen to her demands and process them logically. The only way to get out of this situation was a proposal made by Pansy. Because Pansy would never agree to anything that they offered.   
  
“What is it?” Cho asked, voice surprisingly steady. Neville looked over at her, surprised at the change.   
  
  
“Well,” Pansy said, crossing her arms and leaning back on a desk, looking utterly comfortable and not caring, “You saw me, and I saw you. We could just pretend like this never happened.”   
  
Neville’s eyes flashed angrily. “You just  _killed_ \--”   
  
“Hush up, Neville,” Cho said, taking hold of his hand. “Hear her out.”   
  
Pansy’s eyes lit up with a smug triumph. Her lips curled slightly. “I know that you two were kissing passionately before you came in. In fact, you came in looking for a private place to go further than that. Everyone is, so what wouldn’t you? You came in at the last second to see my kill Ron Weasley. You committed treason, I committed murder. Either all three of us will die, or none of us will die. It’s simple, really. We pretend like we never saw each other tonight, and we all live.” She raised a brow.   
  
“We could just turn you in first. After all, you’re not even supposed to be here,” Cho shot back. “We could have you out of the game in seconds. All we have to do is hang you again.”   
  
“Ah, ah, _ah,”_  Pansy said, waving her finger in the air. “No, you can’t.”   
  
“And why can’t we?” Neville shot back.   
  
“Because I’d still tell.”   
  
“They wouldn’t believe you,” Cho answered, her logical thinking beginning to crash.   
  
“Oh, yes they would. I have a couple people already who would back up my story. You don’t look in the shadows much, do you?”   
  
Neville’s eyes shifted to the shadows. His eyes widened: there was a figure standing there. His eyes shot back to Pansy’s. “You wouldn’t dare.”   
  
“Oh, yes I would. There’s about four people in this room right now, excluding us three. So, if you don’t wish to die, I suggest you leave now, and forever hold your peace about our meeting tonight. Or else,” she finished menacingly.   
  
Neville shot her a dark look, and opened his mouth to bravely retort. Cho took his hand quickly, her eyes darting to the shadows, seeing several figures in the darkness. They were unarmed, and not thinking straight. Neville had, in fact, drank some f the punch. That could be impairing his judgment. “Let it go, Neville.”   
  
He opened his mouth to speak again, but she shook her head. With one last look back at Pansy, Cho took Neville and led him out of the door.   
  
Pansy waited for a moment, and then smirked. She picked up a lit candle from the desk and walked over to the corner where the statue of armor stood. Her lips curled into a smirk as the flame reflected off of the cold silver armor.   
  
And  _that_ , ladies and gentlemen, is what Pansy did with that. Too bad she’d have to dispose of them later. She couldn’t trust a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw. Smarts and Courage were almost equal a combination against sly and clever. She would win, there was no doubt about that.   
  
After all, everything always works out for the Slytherins. She could only hope that time was her friend, and that she could get them, before they got her.   
  


* * *

  
  
As soon as the shadows engulfed him, Draco’s pace quickened almost to a frantic run, fingers tearing at his cravat. He needed air, and he needed it now. He passed several rooms, through open several doors, startling some couples that were either unclothed or close to getting there. Finally, he stumbled into a powder room, fingers tearing the his mask, the motion relieving the pain in his ears.   
  
He rushed over to the water basin and splashed the cold water on his face, as if it would wake him from the twisted dream of vibrant colors and blurs of faces. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a vile: his fingers trembled as he uncorked the vile and took one long look at the strange face looking back at him in the mirror. He couldn’t pretend anymore. Besides, playing dress-up wasn’t much his style anyway.   
  
He never realized what a fine line there was between pretending to be someone, and putting himself in the actual character. He looked himself in the eye. “Bottoms up,” he whispered into the air and chucked down the contents down his throat.   
  
The counter potion burnt a fiery path to his stomach. He stared in the mirror as his own face came up from the depths: his face structure became more angular, his blonde hair once again, shining in the pale moonlight that filtered through the window.   
  
An intense relief rushed through his body as he stared back into the grey eyes of his own reflection. His hands came up, caressing the own contours of his face. He washed his face again, the cold rivulets tracing patterns down his face. He turned away from the mirror, and rested his back on the wall, closing his eyes briefly and took in a deep breath.   
  
This was a huge mistake. Thinking he could go through acting like someone else. He almost started to _like_  it, and Draco never mixed work with pleasure. And that was deficiently too interesting for his own good. He had to get focused… Else wise everything would be shot to bloody smithereens. And he really wouldn’t allow that to happen, no matter how much like a bombshell Hermione looked.   
  
He clenched his fists.  _She’s a Mudblood, Malfoy! Get a grip of yourself!_  He said to himself. A wicked voice inside of his head decided conveniently to reply at that moment .  _Well, since she’s a Mudblood, wasn’t she born for the pleasure of her superiors? You can do what you wish with her._    
  
Draco cursed under his breath. This would get him nowhere. He went back to the basin and splashed water on his face on more time. He pocketed his ragged cravat: He’d have to go open shirted now, there was no way around it.  _Well, if I’m going to be a scandal, I might as well take my jacket off too_ , he thought, and shrugged out of his jacket, thankful for the cold air that flowed through his shirt.   
  
He draped it over the chair and with one last hand slicking back his Malfoy blonde hair in the mirror, he walked out the door. IF he was going to seduce Hermione, he was going to do it as himself. Then, he wouldn’t have to pretend to be anything else. He’d be able to enjoy tormenting her… a lot more as himself. At least… that’s all it was all about, right?  
   
His grey eyes peered through the dimly lit hallways, candle light glinting of the stone walls decorated with ornate rugs to cover the otherwise cold interior. His evening shoes clicked softly on the stone floor. He lightened his step; no one would be able to hear him now even if they tried.   
  
He smirked as he pulled his mask back on. He pulled his cravat out of his pocket and draped it around his neck and tied it loosely, so that with one touch, it would come apart.   
  
He strolled down the corridor leisurely, whistling lightly when he turned a corner to see a figure in a black cloak enter the navigation room. Draco took a glance behind him, and around him, there was no one. A slow smirk curled sensuously on his lips.  _Why, she’s doing all my dirty work for me._    
  
Bloody convenient, that was. However, he wished that she’d make it a little more challenging. The game was beginning to dull. Suddenly, a figure came around the corner. Draco quickly hid behind a statue of armor. “Have you seen a girl with curly hair and a black cloak? She must have come by but seconds ago.”   
  
Draco stood very still. He knew that voice.   
  
 _Bloody Harry Potter._    
  
Now, how in Merlin’s name was he supposed to compete with that.   
  
Then, he realized, that was a stupid question. He was bloody Draco Malfoy. He was more charming, more good looking, and well. He knew how to make her tick.   
  
And tick she would. He just needed time.   
  
He pulled out another vile from his pocket and sighed. He couldn’t reveal his hand just yet. It’d be better this way. He would go to as himself… Tonight.   
  
He stepped into an empty room and downed the liquid, feeling his face mesh into Dommanic’s. A mask.   
  
He smirked. A bloody _brilliant_  mask. After all, that was the point of masks, wasn’t it? To hide one’s identity. His smirk faded slightly. He would have to be very careful.   
  
But did he really?   
  
Time passed quickly as he debated the question. Then, with his mind made up, he walked out the door, retying his cravat, and with a flick of his wrist, he summoned his jacket. It came flying through the air; his long fingers caught it deftly with skills that only a seeker could boast of, and he put it on. He raked a hand through his hair.   
  
He didn’t bother with the material mask.   
  
After all, why would he need two masks?   
  
He stepped out into the hallway and walked over to the door. For a moment, he stood there, composing himself. His eyes shot open and he grasped the handle and pushed the door open.   
  
His stomach plummeted at what he saw. To speak, or not to speak? He felt anger boiling up in him as Hermione put her hand around Harry’s neck and pulled his lips towards hers. Just as their lips were just about to touch, just as he was just about to whirl around and leave, the words escaped from his mouth.   
  
“Well this is cozy.”


	27. Twisted Masquerade: Part III

Ron sat in the Great Hall, head in his hands. This was ridiculous. How in bloody hell was he supposed to break into Snape’s office.  _Without Harry and Hermione?_    
  
The second half of the thought came unbidden in his mind.. He groaned aloud. This was impossible. Really it was.  _But if Pansy--_    
  
Ron gritted his teeth. He was not going to let her get the best of him. He took out his wand, a plan forming in his mind. It was a bit rusty, and there were some gaping holes, but he could do it. He walked over to the doors of the Great Hall and stood before them, and pointed his wand at the lock. Well, it was worth a try. Hopefully, the window panes weren’t listening.   
  
He took a deep breath and said in a loud, bored voice, “ _Alohamora_.”  He wasn't expecting anything to happen. It was really ridiculous to think that anything would. This was a stupid idea, he knew it was. But really, what else did he have to lose?  
  
For a moment, nothing happened. He was about to turn and punch a wall when he heard a groan come from the doors. He watched, eyes wide, as the doors began to open towards him. He scrambled backwards, and fell on his behind as the huge doors towered over him. His eyes watched, wide, as the finished opening; dust settled on the floor.   
  
His mouth fell open. It really couldn’t be _that_  easy. He sat there on his behind for a few more seconds, and then staggered up to his knees. With one more suspicious look behind him, he stepped forward out into the hall.   
  
Step one, complete: only about a zillion more impossible steps to go. Mission Suicide was in business.   
  
He took a glance out the window, and what he saw nearly shocked him out of his wits. There was snow. On the ground.   
  
 _Well obviously it’s on the ground, you idiot,_ a snide voice sounded in his head.  _Where else would it be?_  
Ron rolled his eyes at the voice and continued forward. It was snowing, which meant that it was winter time.   
  
The voice began to sound in his head, but he squandered it.   
  
There was  _snow._    
  
He hurried down the hallway, his plan crushed to smithereens.   
  
 _Well, if you want to be such a chicken--_    
  
Ron felt anger boil up in his veins. Even his own head thought he was a chicken. He gritted his teeth together and walked open to a window and opened it: " _Accio Broom."_  
  
He waited for a few moment, when he heard something whizzing through the air. It was an older broom, Ron surmised, when it landed In his hands. Several of the twigs were sticking out, and the handle hadn’t been polished in sometime.  _If only I had brought my own broom._ Ron sighed, as he mounted it. He’d work with what he was given. He looked down at the handle, and then let out a heavy sigh. Inscribed on the handle was:   
  
Fred Weasley was here! Right beside it was George’s name. And Bill's. Well, he was royally screwed now.  
  
Perhaps his brothers’ spirits had come to haunt him. Or laugh at him. Either or, neither was a good thing. If anything, it was very, very bad.   
  
He wobbled lightly into the air, the broom resisting. Ron’s brows furrowed. “Now listen to me, Broomstick. You’re going to do as I want you to.”   
  
The broomstick wobbled in rebellion.  _Oh, no._  His brothers has messed with the broom. He  _knew_  it! “ You’re going to what I say, or I  _swear_ \--”   
  
It wobbled and turned it’s own summersault, threatening to buck Ron off. He barely managed to bite back his yell. “Bloody hell, you stupid broomstick, I’m a  _Weasley.”_    
  
Suddenly, the broom stopped, and turned in the air, it’s movements questioning. “Yeah, I’m the infamous brother of Fred and George Weasley. And you’re going to take me where I need to go.”   
  
The broom went utterly silent. Ron sighed in relief. Then, he was flying in the air, the broom slipping from between his thighs and he fell on his bottom with a loud ‘umph.’   
  
Ron groaned, as he reached to rub the sore out of his bum. “Bloody broom!”   
  
The broom did a little na-na-na-na-na dance and then went still. Ron stood up and grabbed it, hopping on. “You’ve had your fun. Now help me!”   
  
The broom didn’t do anything. Ron bit his lip and went forward gently. The broom complied. Ron grinned slowly. “That’s it--”   
  
His whisper was cut off by the light sound of footsteps. Ron hovered in the air, shocked. Then, he took his broom and flew up, the only direction that there was to go. He hid up in a corner, where the walls met the ceiling. He could only hope that whoever it was wouldn’t see him, and that his demonic broom wouldn’t give him away.   
  
He held his breath and closed his eyes as the footsteps passed. He hovered there for a few moments more and looked down, seeing nothing, seeing no one.  _This is nuts, totally and utter nuts._  
His celebration clothing looked completely out of place. There was nothing that he could do about it now. He zoomed down the hallway in the opposite direction of where the owner of the footsteps went. He wasn’t totally smart, but he didn’t lack all common sense.   
  
Ron flew reached the main shaft of Hogwarts, where all of the stair cases were, and hovered.   
  
“What are you doing here?” A voice in a portrait asked him, incredulous. The old man looked at Ron with a critical eye.   
  
“You’re dreaming,” Ron said, not even looking at the painting. “I’m not really here.”   
  
The painting scoffed at him, holding a hand to his puffed up shirt. He raised his chin a little. “Don’t tell me that I’m dreaming. I can see you, and I know you’re here.”   
  
Ron sighed and looked at the old man. “I’m not here.”   
  
“I doubt that,” the haughty painting said in a crotchety old voice, raising a brow.   
  
“You’re not going to just let this go, will you?” Ron asked the painting.   
  
“No, I most certainly will not. In fact, I’m going to go to the Professor in a moment to inform her of your presence,” the ghost shot back, and turned away, as if to leave his portrait.   
  
“Wait!” Ron called out after it. “Wait!” He lowered his voice to a whisper, glancing around.   
  
The portrait his head over his shoulder. “Why should I?”   
  
Ron pulled at a straw. Would it work? Maybe it would. He could try. “I’m a Weasley.”   
  
The ghost turned around, brows raised. “A Weasley?“   
  
Ron grinned. “Yup.“  _If Malfoy could see me now…_    
  
“You mean, as in relation to the Weasley Twins?”   
  
Ron’s grin died. “The one and the same,” he answered, slightly dejected.   
  
The ghost gave him a smile. “I  _did_ so like them after that episode with that horrid Professor Umbridge.”   
  
Ron nodded, a small part of him dying inside. “So, you never saw me, alright?”   
  
The ghost nodded reverently. “Anything for a brother of the legendary Weasley Twins.”   
  
Ron sent him a fake smile and then turned away, the smile turning into a grimace. Oh man, he had so much to live up to. He looked one more time at the names etched into the broom handle, and flew south down the corridors, going to the dungeons.   
  
As soon as he went below ground level, cool air wrapped around him in a cool, python’s grip. He shivered, his nerves stirring in his stomach. He bit his lip and edged around a corner. It was almost sad that he knew where Snape’s office was. If it wasn’t for the Marauder’s Map, he would have been a little lost boy in the big, spooky castle. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no one was there.   
  
He quickly zoomed down the hallway to where the Potion’s classroom was. Somehow he knew that getting in unbidden wouldn’t be much fun. No one was down there. The silence was deafening. He put his feet on the floor and pulled the broom out from under him and held it at his side; his other fingers wrapped around his wand. He whispered at the lock, “ _Alohamora.”_    
  
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, all of the sudden, a wall of green fire surrounded him, and a little table appeared in front of him. A very familiar table, with a very familiar seven set of bottles. He had never seen them, but Hermione and Harry told him all about them in first year.   
  
 _Bloody Hell. I’m screwed._  
He felt a sweat break out on his forehead as he reached out to the table to pick up the rolled parchment. With trembling fingers, he unrolled it. The words swam in front of his eyes. Then, he realized what the words made.   
  
Ronald Weasley was never good at riddles.   
  
He sat down on the floor looking at the words. _What would my brothers do?_    
  
He read over the riddle, and realized that there was one that would kill him. And he didn’t know which one it was.   
  
“Oh, bugger,” Ron said. He wasn’t logical. Except for in chess. He scanned the bottles, grabbed one, and chugged it down. May Merlin save his soul.  
  
Only a second too late, did he realize, that he wasn’t in the game anymore, and this was serious.   
  
Too late, did he even think to spit it back up. It was already swirling in his system.   
  


* * *

  
  
“Well, this is cozy.”   
  
Hermione sprang from Harry’s arms in an instant, leaving Harry very confused, hazy, lost, green eyes glancing over to the doorway. He took in the lanky figure leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, the blue eyes not hiding behind a mask. “Who are _you_?” Harry asked.   
  
Hermione watched in silence as Dommanic pushed himself off the door way with a graceful movement. Her ring burned. Badly. She rubbed it, trying to ease the pain.  _Where is he?_  She asked herself, furious. Draco was here somewhere, watching.   
  
She watched Dommanic as he stepped forward with a devastating smile. “Dommanic Lafroy. You must be Harry Potter.” Dommanic held out a hand.   
  
Harry looked at it warily, and then shook it. Harry noted that the guy had a strong handshake: it wasn’t the handshake of a coward. Instantly, he felt slightly better. “I’ve never met you,” Harry said. “Are you an--”   
  
“Extra?” His eyes glanced over to Hermione knowingly. “Fortunately, no. I’m not. I got sorted here a couple days ago. I’m a new student, from Durmstrang.”   
  
Harry puzzled over this for a second and then shrugged. “Nice to meet you.”   
  
Dommanic gave him a nod. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I just couldn’t help myself.”   
  
“You weren’t interrupting anything,” Harry said quickly.   
  
“Wasn’t I?” Dommanic asked, a brow raised pointedly at Hermione, who had the decency to blush.  
  
She crossed her arms. She shouldn’t care what he thought. She had danced with him once. Almost kissed him once. Fell into his arms… _once_. She barely  _knew_  the guy. “No, not really. I think I’ll just leave you two to chat then.” Her ring burned again.   
  
Hermione made a move to get around him, but just as she was about to walk out the door, he called out to her. “Actually, Gra- Lady Granger, can I have a word with you?”   
  
She saw his eyes go down to her hands that were fidgeting with her gown: they stilled immediately. “I don’t think that’s a good--”   
  
“Just a few minutes of your time, Ms. Granger,” Dommanic answered.   
  
Harry looked at the two, “Well, alrighty then. I think I’m going to go. Call me if you need me,” Harry said quickly, running a hand through his hair and shoving another in his pocket. He took one more confused glance at Hermione, gave a nod to Dommanic, and rushed out the door so fast it almost seemed like he was running.   
  
Hermione couldn’t blame him. She’d practically jumped the guy! Her hands went back to fidgeting when Harry fled the room. Dommanic raised a brow. “Now what was that all about?”   
  
Hermione looked into his eyes, and for a second, she could have sworn that she saw a cold, cold, familiar anger, and then, as if she had imagined it, it was gone. “Nothing,” Hermione said, coolly, trying to match the coolness in his blue eyes. She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”   
  
He leaned back against the doorway, “The better question is, what were _you_  doing here, about to kiss Potter?” His gaze was measured. Hermione could almost see the cold fury in them, behind the cool façade that he was maintaining. Something about the way he was….   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What, are you jealous?” She asked, leaning back, as he was.   
  
He laughed softly, the sound racing up her arms, raising goose bumps in its wake. “No, love. I’m not.”   
  
Hermione’s breath caught.  _Who had_ called  _her that--_  Her train of thought was cut off as he began walking towards her. She had nowhere to go but the wall. “Explain to me, Lady Granger, why would I be jealous, when you clearly don’t want him?”   
  
Hermione pushed herself further against the wall. She didn’t know him, she didn’t even know his favorite color… But when he stepped up and braced his hand on the wall, leaning over her, she knew he was right.   
  
She wanted him, not Harry.   
  
And she even felt wanton to admit it. This game was even getting to  _her_. Hermione bit her lip, and then realized that was a mistake, when Dommanic’s eyes fell lazily to her lips. Her ring burned again. Then, she realized that she didn’t care if Draco was watching. She was entitled to her moments. He could gloat about it later.   
  
This was about her, and Dommanic. She banished Draco from her mind. Dommanic looked down on her. He raised a brow, and gave her a crooked smile. “What  _do_  you want, Lady Granger?”   
  
Hermione tried to gulp, but only found that her throat was dry. She looked up into his blue eyes and was lost. “I--”   
  
Suddenly, a fury rose like a tsunami in his eyes, an anger that he didn’t have time to squelch before she saw. He immediately moved from the wall, and stood in front of her. Then the fury melted, and his stance relaxed as he laughed again.   
  
Hermione’s brows furrowed. “What are you laughing about.”   
  
“You don’t know what you want, do you?”   
  
“No, I know what I want,” Hermione returned, standing up from the wall this time.   
  
“And what is that?” Dommanic asked softly, looking Hermione in the eyes.   
  
She mustered up her courage and the word flew from her lips. “You.”   
  
The air was still for a second. Hermione couldn’t decipher the look on his face. She just wanted to kiss him right now. Hermione cursed mentally. It was the dress, she knew it was. It made her feel like she had the right to want these things. She stood ramrod straight as he looked her up and down.   
  
And then Dommanic laughed again, third time a charm. “Ah, Lady Granger, the irony of my life threatens to kill me.”   
  
“Pray tell me why?” Hermione asked, puzzled. She just wanted to snog the guy. Right now. She wanted to know what it felt like.   
  
“Because  _I,_  Dommanic Aymes Lafroy, don’t want  _you_ , Hermione Jane Granger.”   
  
Hermione felt a flash of hurt rush through her, as his rejection slammed her in the face. But then, it passed, as she realized something odd. “How do you know -“ she paused, then restated, “I never told you my full name,” she said, confidently. Her eyes narrowed on his figure. “Who told you my full name?”   
  
Dommanic’s lip curled slightly in the corner, only fanning the flames that he had lit in Hermione. It was a dangerous curl in those lips, dark and sinister. “That is for you to never find out. Good day, Lady Granger.”   
  
He turned to walk out the door, when the words flew out of Hermione’s mouth before she could stop them. “Kiss me.”   
  
His posture went rigid, as he stood, back to her. Several seconds passed, and Hermione’s cheeks had the decency to color. She bit her lip. He breathed in to speak, but he didn’t turn around. He merely turned his head so she could see his profile and said over his shoulder, “But I don’t want too.”   
  
He made a move to leave, and Hermione snapped. She stalked up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. She pushed him against the door, stared into his shocked blue eyes and replied, “But  _I_  do.” Her fingers tangled into his loosely knotted cravat, and pulled him towards her.   
  
And then, without giving him a second to think about it, her lips crashed upon his.   
  


* * *

  
  
Ron was going to die. He knew it. He staggered up, his brain telling him, it was over. He didn’t even get to eat the box of chocolates he had brought with him. Humorlessly, his stomach chose that moment to grumble. He had the urge to kick something, but there was nothing to kick. The bottles disappeared as soon as he had taken the first one.   
  
So he decided to kick into the air. This, for many reasons, obviously, was a bad idea. His left leg buckled beneath the sudden weight, and the gravity pulled him right through the green fire; he opened his mouth to scream.   
  
The pain never came. Ron’s face went puzzled, like a little puppy’s. His corners of his lips pulled down into a frown. His brows crashed together. It bloody  _tickled._  He was on his behind, half in the fire, half out of the fire.   
  
And he wasn’t dead ..... yet.   
  
Well, this was good. This was  _very_ good. Someone else would’ve thought that Ron had taken some  _Felix Felicis_. He jumped up, with energy and walked over to the door and gripped the handle. If it would bite him… Well, maybe he’d be luckier than having to run into a biting doorknob.   
  
As soon as his fingers grasped the handle, the fire suddenly disappeared. The door opened without a squeak. Ron’s brows raised in surprise. This had to be a trick. There had to be a booby trap somewhere.   
  
He grabbed his broom and got back on his, hovering over the desks, when he saw it: there it was, laying plain as day on the desk. It was an old, silver, intricate key with odd designs all over it. Designs like on the door.   
  
Ron didn’t know where he got the odd ‘match the key to the lock’ talent, but he only wished that sometimes it would transfer to his horrifying ‘Pin the Wand on Merlin’ skills. Or should he say,  _lack_ of them.   
  
Not that he cared. He wrinkled his nose. He had been the brunt of too many of homosexual jokes. Just because he couldn’t pin the wand on Merlin…   
  
That made him straight right?   
  
Ron’s brows furrowed. It didn’t matter. His skills had gotten him what he needed now, like they had in First Year when Harry had to catch a key. He heard voices coming from the door that was connected to the He flew over to the desk, and just as his fingers brushed the key, the unmistakable sound of a doorknob being turned whittled through the air. Ron gulped: a second doing something like that was a second wasted. By the time his momentary fear had passed, the door was flung open. The blood pooled out of Ron’s face.   
  
Severus Snape froze. His face was surprised, a first for Ron. Then, Ron’s face paled further as Snape’s eyes narrowed slowly. “Mr. Weasley, what an  _un_ pleasant surprise.”   
Ron tried to get his lips to move from their current open position. Then, suddenly, his nerves kicked into gear. “Fancy seeing you here, Professor.”   
  
When the professor’s expression didn’t change, he was very aware of what he looked like. Leaned over, fingers almost touching the key. He inched his hand back; Snape just kept looking at him. Suddenly, Ron was struck with inspiration. “Look!” He suddenly exclaimed pointing above the evil potion professors shoulder, hoping the git would look away for a second, so he could grab the key.   
  
No such luck. Snape raised a sardonic eyebrow. “What. Is. It.” The words came out chopped, sarcastic, and without question.  
  
“A bird?” Ron offered quickly, his stomach feeling like it was going to fold out of itself.   
  
The professor raised his other eyebrow in sarcastic disbelief. “Oh, really? Summon it for me, Weasley.”   
  
Ron gulped, and then he saw the professor’s hand dive into his robes. Ron snatched up the key in the same moment, his fingers almost missing the Merlin-forsaken piece of metal. “Later!” He said, and whizzed out the door, but not before he heard the tell tale cloak swirl in the air. Snape was coming after him.   
  
Ron put some extra gas into his broom, and leaned forward, urging the stupid thing to go faster. It tried, it really did. “Stupid, ancient piece of wood.”   
  
The broom ignored him, and kept racing forward.   
  
“ _ACCIO KEY_!”   
  
Ron heard the spell being cast somewhere behind him. He took out his wand with his other hand, riding the broom, hands of in that moment. He turned his torso, and yelled ‘ _PROTEGO_!”   
  
And whizzed around a corner, almost falling off. He righted himself, only for his eyes to go wide. He had a split second before he plowed over Professor McGonagall. She crashed to the floor, ‘Ah!” He toppled over, broom with him, to the ground. The Professor moaned, as if he had broken something. Ron was about to get up to help her when he saw a movement down the hallway. Professor Snape was on the prowl.   
  
 _Bloody hell, the old man is FAST._  Ron had been counting on the Big Black Cloak to give the Professor a hassle. Apparently, lady luck wasn't on Ron's side today. He didn’t have a choice. Ron looked down at the Headmistress, and then at Snape’s approaching face.   
  
“Mr. Weasley--” the Headmistress rasped…   
  
“Sorry, so sorry!” Ron said, grabbing up his broom from the floor. She was not a charity case, not when he had to save his own rear end. He hopped on the broom, and barely managed to miss another zinger cast by the snaky Potions Professor.   
  
“Severus! What is going on?!” Ron heard the headmistress shrill from her position on the ground.   
  
Snape stepped right over her, “Sorry, Headmistress. I don’t have time for petty questions.”   
  
Then Ron was around the corner. He flew through the doors to the great Hall and launched off of his broom stick. He scrambled to his feet, key still in hand. He thrust it into the large silver door and twisted it.   
  
“You don’t want to do that.” Professor Snape’s cold voice shred any feelings of victory that Ron had. The heat pooled from his face, leaving pasty looking cheeks behind.   
  
Ron turned around, but didn’t say a word.   
  
“Give me back the key,” Professor Snape hissed.   
  
In that moment, Ronald felt… like his brothers all combined. He had just broken into Snape’s office, stolen a key, plowed over the Headmistress, Merlin! He just ascended into deity. And then, he was struck by a ridiculous dramatic impulse that he had never had when in the presence of the Potions Professor. His lips curled into a grin, and he dramatically shouted, “NEVER!” and pumped his fist into the air.   
  
Before the Professor could recover from the slight shock, Ron ripped off his signet, heaved the door open, and yelled “General!”   
  
Snape stood dumbfounded. Then, came the fury…   
  
“Well, I think that might just be the first shred of rebellious Weasley I’ve seen in that boy.”   
  
Snape sneered. “So it would seem.”   
  
 _And when I get my hands on his neck, he’ll wish he hadn’t shown his little stupid streak._  
With a dramatic narrowed glare at Minerva, he swept out of the open doors of the Great Hall, his cloak billowing behind him.   
  
He was beyond furious. Some people might consider an adult plotting revenge on a teenager immature and unnecessary.   
  
Some people, conveniently, did not include Severus Snape.   
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione pulled herself closer, meshing her body to Dommanic as her lips pressed against his. She hadn’t kissed anyone but Victor, and then, she hadn’t liked it at all. It had been rough, and almost brutal like, and then she had gotten caught by Ginny, a blessing in disguise. But now… Her whole body was on fire, and she hadn’t even properly snogged him yet! Her ring had gone very,  _very_ cold.   
  
His fingers tightened slightly on her hips: when they had gotten there, Hermione hadn’t a clue. Her mouth opened ever so slightly, to grant him access, when he pushed her away. She stumbled over the hem of her gown and barely caught herself. Her hand shot out and grasped the table ledge. She breathed heavily, her heart was racing, and his rejection shot through her. His eyes bore coldly into hers, “I said that I  _didn’t_  want to. What wasn’t clear about that?”   
  
“You can’t always have what you want,” Hermione gasped back, trying to catch her breath. Her heart wouldn’t stop running as if time itself was spiraling out of control.   
  
He didn’t even laugh this time. A sardonic smile curled darkly on his lips. “Then, by your logic, you can’t have me.”   
  
Hermione stood up, knees still weak, the softness of his lips still engraved in her mind. “Be the gentleman, Lafroy, and give me one kiss.”   
  
He arched a brow at her, and stepped out of the doorway. “I would, but you’ve already stolen it. I excepted nothing less from a pirate. No matter how good looking she is.”   
  
Hermione didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t even get to reply. He strode up to her, and took her hand. He bent forward, and grazed her knuckles with his lips. Dommanic looked her in the eyes; his held no mirth. Her ring burned again: it was irritating her. She met his eyes. He gave her a nod then walked out the door, leaving Hermione with her raging thoughts.   
  


* * *

  
  
Susan was about to drink a cup of punch when someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Care to dance?”   
  
She whirled around. “Blaise! Where have you--”   
  
He gave her a grin, and took her gloved hand. His ebony skin was a dark contrast with her white skin.   
  
Susan waited for the electricity to crackle in the air and rush up her arm. To her shock… none came. She gave him a small, almost confused smile. “I’d love to dance.” Her voice didn’t back up that fact. His smile wavered slightly as he took her to the dance floor.   
  
The orchestra strung up a waltz, and he pulled her closely to him. A few moments later, as they were dancing, his eyes bore into hers. “Why aren’t you smiling anymore, Susan?” He asked, perplexed. “You’re dancing with me. You’ve been waiting for me to come back.”   
  
Susan looked into his eyes, almost loosing her footing. Her brows furrowed. “It’s not that I haven’t been waiting--”   
  
Blaise raised a brow at her. “He’s been looking at you for the past half hour.”   
  
“He has?” Susan asked, heat instantly flushing her cheeks. She had been looking for him all night, and hadn’t seen him. To think that he had been watching her the whole time.. She looked at Blaise, and then, with horror, she realized her mistake. “Who has?”   
  
Blaise chuckled, his hold on her lessening. But his dark eyes were expressionless. If anything, they were the winter storm that could have frozen hell over. “You Hufflepuffs move on rather quickly, don’t you?”   
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about--”   
  
Suddenly, Blaise’s fingers went up to her forearms, crushing her muscles with the force he exerted through his fingertips. He led her off the dance floor and into some shadows. She was too shocked to say anything. No one noticed, because Blaise shot everyone dazzling smiles. Once they were in a secluded corner, he turned on her, hands back on her upper arms. “I’m talking about your bloody darling ‘Thaddius’.”   
  
Susan gasped. “I still don’t--”   
  
Blaise shook her lightly. Suddenly, someone tapped him forcefully on the shoulder. “Get your filthy hands off her, Zabini. Before I cause a scene.”   
  
Blaise relaxed his hold, but only slightly. He didn’t take his eyes off of Susan’s. “Well, Thaddius, I suppose that  _would_  be your area of expertise, you bloody pansy.”   
  
“No,” Thaddius’s eyes glittered, “I believe  _she_  would be in  _your_ house, Zabini. Bloody appropriate, I’d say.”   
  
Blaise raised his chin a little higher, and looked down his nose at Thaddius. “Are you calling me a coward?”   
  
By now, the two were squared off, Susan long forgotten in the shadows. She stood, staring with wide eyes, not knowing what to say. But she did know one thing” two boys were fighting over  _her_. Susan Bones, sheltered little Hufflepuff.   
  
Thaddius shrugged. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”   
  
Blaise’s nostrils flared angrily, “I’m not bloody Cinderella, _filth.”_    
  
Thaddius cracked an amused smile. “I didn’t say anything about Cinderella, but now that you mention it…”   
  
Blaise stood for a moment, eyes narrowed. Susan could practically feel the anger rolling off of him in waves. He turned away from her, and began to walk away. Thaddius, however, found this unsatisfactory. “Oh! Living up to your  _cowardly_ Slytherin principles, aren’t you?”   
  
“ _Thaddius!”_  Susan gasped, not knowing what else to say.   
  
Blaise turned around, shutting Thaddius's next words with a sharp, narrowed glance of his dark eyes. “No, I’m  _not._  I just know when I’m wasting my time,” he shot a look at Susan, who’s posture stiffened immediately. He kept his eyes on hers. “Enjoy yourself, Bones. But when you find out that there’s nothing to enjoy, don’t come running to me. I don’t do charity cases.”   
  
Without letting her say another word, he left.   
  
Susan glared at Thaddius. “You didn’t have to do that.”   
  
Thaddius sighed. “He hurt you,” he said, picking up her arm. There were faint purple finger prints on her skin. She winced as he touched them. “And I can’t bear to see you hurt.”   
  
“Oh, Thaddius,” Susan murmured under her breath. “It’s still no reason to be rude.”   
  
Thaddius tilted her chin up. “Or course, I sincerely apologize.”    
  
He smiled down at her, searching her eyes. Then he kissed her. He kissed her like Blaise had wanted to kiss her. He kissed her like Susan had wanted him to kiss her all day long.   
  
And it was better than she had imagined.   
  
And yet….   
  
And yet.   
  


* * *

  
  
Harry found Ginny twirling around with Luna Lovegood. He smiled at Luna, and then took Ginny by the arm. “Hermione almost kissed me,” he whispered into her ear.   
  
He didn’t spare a single second. Ginny gasped. “ _What?”_    
  
“And I’m supposed to marry Cho in a day.”   
  
Ginny’s eyes went alight with fire. “So  _that’s_ what this celebration is all about? The whispering, and all that? Did you tell them not to tell me?”   
  
Harry’s eyes didn’t meet hers. That told her all that she needed to know. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a corridor. “What in bloody hell were you thinking, Harry? I thought you loved me!”   
  
Harry ran his hands down her arms, in what he thought was a reassuring manner. He looked into her eyes desperately. “I  _do_. I  _do_  love you. That’s why I’m telling you all of this--”   
  
“Now?” Ginny narrowed her eyes. “You could have told me this right when I showed up.”   
  
Harry’s green eyes pleaded with hers. “I only did it to protect you.”   
  
“Protect me?” Ginny scoffed. “Harry, you could have just  _told_  me. I would have been better off knowing in the first place. We could have come up with something.”   
  
“Hermione came up with something,” Harry said quietly.   
  
“Hermione?” Ginny spat. “Didn’t she just try to kiss you?”   
  
Harry sighed and ran a hand though his hair. “I think someone spiked the punch.”   
  
“That’s still not an excuse--”   
  
“Ginny,” Harry warned, softly. He looked into her eyes, and mentioned for her to sit down. She gritted her teethe, and a muscle ticked in her jaw. He saw it. He didn’t make her sit. “You’ve only been here for a few days. You haven’t seen these people. People  _change_ in this game.”   
  
“But Hermione--”   
  
“Don’t worry about Hermione,” Harry said. “She’s been hit by it the most. I think she has some sort of crazy notion that she has to win, or we’ll all be stuck here forever.”   
  
“But--”   
  
“I didn’t kiss her, Ginny. That’s what matters.”   
  
Ginny looked at his expression. She couldn’t decipher it. She smoothed her hands down her peach colored gown, refusing to look him in the eyes, as she asked him a single question. “But did you want to?”   
  
A second passed. “No,” Harry lied. “I didn’t.” It hurt him to lie to her. But it hurt less than it would have hurt her to tell him that, yes, he had wanted to, for some odd reason. He was only human. He couldn't be perfect all the time, and it was almost unfair for Ginny to expect otherwise.  
  
It almost pained him to see her bright smile on her painted lips. Her eyes went aglow. “I’m sorry, Harry, I’m just…”   
  
“I understand,” Harry said, putting up a hand. “But I’m going to let you know now: This ‘marriage’ thing with Cho is going to have to work out. The Extra’s won’t negotiate for anything more. It’s not going to be official, you  _know_  that.”   
  
Ginny sighed, as Harry took her hands in his. “You  _know_  that I love _you_ , and  _only_ you.”   
  
Ginny nodded, her hair bouncing lightly in their red curls. “I know.”   
  
“Good,” Harry breathed as he tilted up her chin so that he could kiss her.   
  
He would sort everything else out later. For the moment, he drowned his guilt in the bittersweet  innocence of  the ocean that was Ginny's lips.  
  


* * *

  
  
Pansy walked through the dark halls of the castle. She wasn’t far away from where she had killed Ron. Her hands were trembling slightly: she clutched the skirts of her gown tighter. She would not let this get to her. She was better than this. _Stronger_  than this.   
  
After a few moments, she was back to normal. _It’s just a game_ , she reminded herself.  _Besides_ , a snaky voice hissed in her brain,  _He killed you first, and probably had a good night’s rest afterwards_. “Bloody Gryffindor,” Pansy murmured under her breath.   
  
She walked into an empty room and went over to the fire place. There was a gorgeous array of flowers on top of the mantle; behind it hung an ornate mirror. She walked over to them, one long finger reaching out to touch the petal. A sudden movement in the mirror above the mantle caught her attention.   
  
For a moment, she just stared. Surely, she was hallucinating. Her eyes bored into the silver; involuntarily, her hand rose up to touch the mirror, to see if it was real. He looked like an angel to her, not a ghost who had come back from the dead. His face was just as shocked as hers for a moment, and this his face contorted in what seemed to be a righteous anger.   
  
Then, the click of the safety being pulled off a pistol brought her crashing down to earth. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you, Parkinson.”   
  
She whirled around, heart trying to escape her chest. “You’re supposed to be dead.”   
  
“Well, obviously, I’m  _not_ ,” Ron spat at her. “ _One_  reason, Parkinson. Give it your best shot.”   
  
“Just because you’re in Gryffindor, doesn’t mean that you’re brave enough to kill me,” Pansy answered.   
  
“Not good enough,” Ron returned, raising the pistol higher and aimed it right for her heart. “And in case you don’t remember, I’ve killed you once. I can do it again. Now give me your bloody reason.”   
  
Pansy’s heart slowed, as a realization hit her. He saw the twinkle in her eye, and fury rushed through his veins. “Well?” he demanded.   
  
“If you’re so intent on killing me, why are you trying so hard to find a reason not to?” For a moment, as it hit her fully, she was confused. Why wouldn’t he kill her? Why  _shouldn’t_  he? He had every right to do so.   
  
Ron’s hands wavered, torn in between the roar in his veins, telling him that he had every right to do what he was about to do. Then, he knew he couldn’t do it. Call him a coward, but he knew he couldn’t. But he wasn’t about to let her know that. If he had learned anything from Hermione, he was going to do that know. And like she had always said, he had to keep a ‘poker face’….   
  
Even though he didn’t know what the bloody hell that was. “Because I know there isn’t a single reason to spare you. I wanted you to see that for yourself.”   
  
Then, her blood ran cold. She looked him in the eyes, her green ones clashing with his. He was right. The bloody blood traitor was right. She tried to mask her horror, but was a second to late. She saw the glint of acknowledgement in his eyes. She didn’t know what to say next. So he took the opportunity.   
  
“Tell you what, Parkinson. I won’t kill you, if you agree to a truce.”   
  
Her eyes went wide with mock shock. “A truce? That’s a little boring, don’t you think?”   
  
“No, actually.”   
  
“'No, it’s not boring,' or 'No, you don’t think?' I do think it's the latter.”   
  
Ron raised a brow. “You’re not exactly in the position to be sarcastic.”   
  
“Then shut my mouth, Weasley,” She shot back.   
  
He narrowed his eyes. “There’s a lot of tasks I could set your mouth to shut them up, but right now you’re either going to die, or agree.”   
  
“Fine,” Pansy said, dusting off her dress.   
  
“ _Fine_?” Ron asked, surprised by her quick acceptance.   
  
“Yes,  _fine_ , Ronald. It means I agree--”   
  
“I  _know_  what it means,” Ron shot back. “How am I supposed to know you’re not lying?”   
  
“You’re just going to have to trust me to keep the truce.”   
  
Ron narrowed her lips. “ _Fine_ , as long as you trust me not to kill you.”   
  
Pansy saw the anger in his eyes and knew he wasn’t joking. She didn’t know if he was bluffing or not, but she knew that he was definitely capable of killing her. After all, like he had said before, he  _had_  killed her once. “Truce?” She asked, holding her hand out.   
  
He took her hand quickly, “Truce.”   
  
Their hands stayed joined for a moment too long. Pansy jerked away as the tingles ran up her arms. Ron looked at her puzzled, as if seeing her in a different light for the first time. Then, all emotion was gone from his face. He went and opened the door, never once turning his body away from hers. “Now, I’m going to let you leave first.”   
  
Pansy raised a brow as she made a move to the door, her body even more luscious as she swayed to the door. “You have no manners, Ronald. I’m sure this isn’t just a ‘Ladies first,’ policy.”   
  
Ron shook his head. “First off, you’re not a lady. Second, it’s only for my protection. I don’t want you stabbing me, quite literally, in the back, when I leave.”   
  
“I can stab you in the front, if you’d like.”   
  
“You won’t be stabbing me anywhere, Pansy. Now leave, before I change my mind.” His hand touched her back and he ushered her out the door. Goosebumps rose on her back where his fingers pressed on the outside of her deep green dress.   
  
“Yes, sir,” Pansy answered nonchalantly, and sashayed to the exit. _Sometimes, the cat has to make the mouse think he’s in charge before pouncing,_ she thought.   
  
She gave him a flash of a smile and walked out the door, her hips swinging, leaving Ron with more than one problem. He looked down at his pants and stifled a groan.   
  
He had broken into Professor Snape’s office, escaped the judgment of the Headmistress after he had plowed her to the ground,  _survived_ all of it, and had to deal with base problems like his… pants.   
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “I  _hate_  my life," he murmured under his breath.  
  
He looked down again.   
  
“ _Bloody Hell_.”   
  


* * *

  
  
A while after he left, Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall. There was another half hour until the ball was going to be over. She didn‘t want to stay. She was frustrated and furious. The burning had stopped: but only for a moment.   
  
Her rage had turned to resentment, and regret. By kissing Dommanic, she could have ruined  _everything._  She was supposed to be focused on Harry, not Dommanic! She walked by the ballroom, and peeked in. Her honey eyes scanned the room dispassionately. Harry was dancing blissfully with Ginny, Ron was no where to be seen. Her ‘protectors’ were busy.   
  
She was waiting for Draco to come out and gloat. Just waiting for him. She knew he had seen her dancing with Dommanic. If she wasn’t wrong, he had probably seen the incident with Dommanic and Harry in the Navigation room. She felt his presence all night. If her ring burning was any indication, he hadn’t left her side.   
  
She wanted to argue, and by  _Merlin_ , she wanted to fight. He was the only person who she could take her wrath out on and then some. He would fight back, and she would relish it. She  _needed_ a release, and she was just waiting for Draco so she could take it all out on him.   
  
She waited for a few minutes, waiting for him to pounce on her, but she had no suck luck. She wasn’t a Slytherin: nothing was given to her on a silver platter. She frowned, and left.   
  
If he wasn’t going to come out tonight, she was going to go to sleep and get some energy to fight him tomorrow. She walked through the dark hallways and past the many flaming candles en route to her room She walked passed a couple passionately kissing each other and felt a bitter sweet twang rush through her body. She pushed it away.   
  
Her feet dragged up the stairs to her room. She sighed when she reached her room, and pulled out a key from inside her bodice: it was warm. She tucked it into the lock and turned it, pushing the door open easily. She walked in, and locked the door behind her. She looked around: The room was dark and quiet. The only light was the shaft of moonlight that filtered in through the window.   
  
Her dressing screen was in one corner, her bed was in the corner, curtains slightly open, inviting her for a long night’s sleep. She almost sighed in pleasure at the thought of the silk covers slithering against her skin. She walked over to her dresser and unbuttoned her gown, and let it fall to the floor. She stepped out of it, clad only in a shift. She pulled her robe off a peg that was on the wall, and tied it around her. She was much to tired to take a bath now.   
  
The clock suddenly struck midnight. The twelve chimes rang out over the kingdom. Then, there was a terminal silence, and then shouts of joy outside her widow, followed by the cracking of fireworks. She didn’t even get up. The ball was _finally_  over. Today was a new day.   
  
She lit a candle: the little flame did wonders for the room. It chased away the shadows immediately. Hermione sat down in front of her dresser mirror and pulled out the wooden pins that were holding up her hair. She winced as one pulled out a couple pieces of her hair. She hissed and put the offending clip down.   
  
Her hair amassed around her shoulders: for once, the curls were slightly tame. Today’s exertions, and the styling that had been done earlier… made her feel pretty now. She opened her drawer, to pull out a band for her hair. They weren’t elastic in that day and age, but none the less, Hermione didn’t like sleeping with her hair in her face.   
  
She felt for the band, but it wasn’t in the drawer.  _Well, that’s funny,_  Hermione thought,  _I had left it there this morning._  She opened another drawer, and still, it was a no show. She pursed her lips and got up from her chair and looked underneath it. Still not to be found.   
  
She crouched down to look under her bed--   
  
“Looking for something, Granger?”   
  
Her heart leapt out of her chest. For a moment, she was frozen. Perhaps she had imagined it… Her mind told her though, that logically, a voice that was that sensual, that  _real_ could not have been just a figment of her imagination. The shiver that ran down her spine at the sound of that voice was most certainly real.  
  
She slowly stood, and turned around to face him. His face was half shrouded in shadow: a rush of heat rushed through her veins, but this time, it wasn’t anger. It was… something else. His grey eyes looked her up and down, pausing at the shadow of cleavage provided by the ‘V’ of the short robe. His eyes flew up to meet her wide ones. His lips curled into a smirk.   
  
Her eyes traced that movement. Suddenly, her throat went try. Her eyes trailed down his body, and then saw his hands. She tried to swallow, but found that she couldn’t.   
  
He was twirling her band with his long capable fingers. His fingers were mesmerizing…   
  
“Malfoy,” she rasped, heart beating loudly.   
  
He smirked darkly, and stepped out of the shadows. “Why hello, Granger. Nice show, earlier. I was a big fan of the moonlit stripping.”   
  
Hermione’s eyes went wide, when the implications of his comment hit her.   
  
She was wearing only a robe and underwear, in a locked bedroom (that had a bed) , with a smirking Draco Malfoy.   
  
She wasn’t sure she liked that combination at all. She was already on the defensive.   
  
And when Hermione was on the defensive without a sword…   
  
Things could only go down hill from there.   
  
Draco took a step forward, and Hermione took one back, her bum hitting the dresser.   
  
For the first time in his presence during the game, she was defenseless. Her wand was in her nightstand, a ways away. She gulped as his grey eyes glinted.   
  
“Do you want it back?” He asked, when he was about an arms length away from her.   
  
Hermione nodded, “Yes.” Her voice came out hoarse and husky. She couldn’t do this…   
  
His grey eyes bore into hers, hot and yet so cold at the same time. He leaned forward, looking through her soul, or so it seemed. His smirk grew darker. “Then  _fight_  for it.” 


	28. Murphy's Law

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “That’s stupid, Malfoy. Be reasonable.” She held out a hand, expecting him to act like an adult. She didn’t want to enrage him. The wedding was technically, in less than twenty four hours, and everything had been going to plan. Until now.  _Count on Malfoy to show up when he’s least wanted_. Murphy’s Law, she realized with irony. It has chosen a brilliant time to make its debut.   
  
“Scared, are we, Granger?” his asked, great eyes unreasonable. He studied her, goading her with his expression. What happened next was something that he hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t part of the plan at all. Everything worked out for him. But she was the surprise. He had forgotten that for a moment. The thing not planned.   
  
“I’m so over this,” she scoffed and turned to the mirror.   
  
He almost dropped her hair pin. His eyes flared with surprise for only a moment, but then, he shuttered his gaze as he watched her with eternal shock. This wasn’t going well at all. He wasn’t planning on this, this  _indifference._    
  
Her fingers delved deeply into her hair and she began to braid it as if she didn‘t have a care in the world. She didn’t even glance at his reflection in the mirror. She kept her eyes locked with her own, willing herself to stare into her own gaze. “Go find someone else who  _wants_  to be bothered.”   
  
He looked into his reflection right over her shoulder. His grey eyes remained unreadable, expression nonchalant. “Why would I do that, when you’re right here in front of me. Admit it, Granger. You  _like_  being bothered. Especially by me.”   
  
Hermione ignored him, and kept braiding her hair, as if it was going to save her life. “You’re so _full_  of it, Malfoy, it’s almost funny. Too bad I’m not in the mood for being entertained. You can leave now.”   
  
When he didn’t answer her, the temptation to look into his face was almost overwhelming. She narrowed her eyes at her reflection and ignored his right beside hers. “Now that just won’t do.”   
  
His soft voice made her jump. Unwillingly, her eyes glanced at Draco for what was supposed to be a minuscule glance, but then the froze. His gaze was fixed on her hands that had been dutifully braiding her hair. She bit her lip from asking what he was staring at. Her breath held as he stepped so close that she could feel the heat radiating off of him on her back. His hands touched her shoulder, ice cold, his skin brushing hers ever so softly.   
  
Hermione held back the impulse to jump at his touch. Goosebumps rose from where his fingers had been just moments before. He took her braid gently from her hands. “You messed up.”   
  
Hermione didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t even classify the tone in his voice. His expression was mystifying. Her brain began scrambling for answers to questions, most of them running along the lines of ‘ What the  _hell_  is he doing?’   
  
She could think of no answers. He was puzzling her; she didn’t know what to make of it. Her eyes were still frozen to his face in the mirror. It was odd, seeing his reflection, but not really seeing  _him_. It made her wonder if the mirror was tricking her, fooling her. His face was slightly perplexed, brows slightly furrowed. He pocketed the hair band, then took her braid, undid half of it, and began winding the pieces together. Hermione stood still, almost afraid to move. Her eyes were transfixed on his face, brain frying from trying to figure him out.   
  
  
Slowly as he finished the braid, his expression transformed into an evil smirk. One so evil, Hermione couldn’t move. It was like seeing something horrific and not being able to run. She couldn’t even take in a breath. “ Imagine that,” Draco muttered, voice rich. “The ‘brightest witch of our age’ messed up something so trivial as a braid.”   
  
Hermione didn’t speak, not knowing what to do with a hairdressing Malfoy. He was giving up? It was almost unreal. His expression didn’t change. Suddenly, his eyes clashed with hers dangerously. Hermione searched his gaze for a second’ her insides froze from their odd expression. Like he knew something she didn’t. She hated that look. It was the one look that shook her very foundation. She knew  _everything._  He couldn’t possibly know something she didn’t know.   
  
And then the fact hit her: It’s not that he knew something she didn’t know. He knew something that she didn’t  _want_ him to know. That was a big difference.   
  
He stepped closer, so that his chest was pressed against her back. “Now what would your precious little Dommanic think about that?”   
  
Hermione’s eyes went wide with surprise. She was not expecting that. It disarmed and disoriented her. Her mind suddenly sharpened. He was goading her. Without reason. That almost didn't make any sense. She was confused. And then, it hit her.  _Just like he wants it_ , she realized a split second too late. The next moment was a blur.   
  
Suddenly, Draco’s hand twisted her braid tight, bringing the back of her head into the crook of his shoulder. The other hand went to her neck, his long fingers circling it softly. Her hands flew up instinctively to grip his hand, to make her left him go, but he would have none of it. If anything, his grip got tighter. Hermione felt fury overwhelm her as Draco smirked at her in the mirror and spoke softly, all the while tightening his fingers around her neck. “I don’t think he’d like it  _at all_.”   
  
For a moment, Hermione saw red. She stood stock still, muscles tensed. Then, it passed, and the anger flew out of her in verbal form. Her eyes snapped life, finger nails clawing into his forearms, trying to hurt him more than trying to get him to let her go. “I  _knew_ it,” she snarled, “I  _knew_ you were spying on me, you despicable  _bastard!_ ”   
  
Draco laughed menacingly. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Granger,” he said, breath hot on her ear.   
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Get your paws of me, you mangy little ferret,” she hissed as dangerously as she could through her clenched teeth.   
  
He raised as brow at her menace. “Why should I,  _bookworm?”_  he replied, jerking her head back further. “I might get that spell out of your head by osmosis. It would be worth having to touch your bacteria infested body.”   
  
Hermione had to laugh at this. “Everyone is bacteria infested, Malfoy.  _Especially_  you.”   
  
Draco gripped her hair tighter, and Hermione bit her tongue so she wouldn’t cry out. “Let me  _go_ , Malfoy.”   
  
“Why?” He countered, twisting her braid, exposing the straining veins in her neck. “You seemed to like it a minute ago,” he whispered coldly.   
  
“I did not,” Hermione retorted, her voice strained and contorted. She tried to turn her head away from his mouth. She didn’t want to hear another single bloody word-   
  
“Oh, but I think you did,  _Mudblood_.”   
  
Hermione couldn’t take it any longer. He was always belittling her, always… Hermione stomped and dug her heel into Draco’s shoe encased toes. Draco hissed from the pain, and his grip on her loosened for a split second. It was all the time Hermione needed. She twisted away from him and jerked her hair from his hand. Oddly, she was flushed, but her back felt cold in his absence. She stomped that out immediately. That would get her nowhere.   
  
At least she was in control of herself now. Her fingers were braved, almost like a cat’s claws. “Get out of my room, Malfoy. I’m serious.” She looked right at him, this time. The real Malfoy. Not the reflection.   
  
His grey eyes suddenly flared with a  _real_ ferocious anger. He assessed her fighting stance. Then, he began to confuse her. His eyes glittered angrily, but he forced himself to remain nonchalant. Killing her would do no good, satisfying as it was. “Let me make this very clear to you,” He said, voice bored, as if he was talking to a first year.   
  
He was so contradictory, Hermione wanted to scream. His eyes didn’t match his voice. He should be yelling at her. She would have been grateful if he had been. That would have made him  _human._  He was an actor. A lying, manipulating, ferret of an actor. And the worst thing was: he was lying to her and manipulating her all for the spell.   
  
The realization hit her cold. It was a game within a game. This was his challenge. Then, the stubbornness that always was the essence of Hermione reared up in her. She wouldn’t let him win her over. If he was being charming, it was all an act. Her finger burned at her in anger, but she didn’t spare it a glance. She’d get to that little predicament later. For now, she had to get this schemer out of her room.   
  
He was continuing his bored lecture, “If you give me spell that you used to mask the lock on the chest at Siramadra, I’ll leave and we can go our own merry ways. But if you  _don’t_ ,” his eyes glittered with that one word, indicating that he wasn’t bored at all, “I’m not going to leave. The only way you can get rid of me is to give me the spell.”   
  
Hermione almost wanted to applaud him for the show. “Then you’re going to be here a  _long_  time, ferret boy.”   
  
His eyes glittered, but his lip lifted in annoyed amusement. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Granger.”   
  
Hermione’s eyes went fierce with anger. “Stop throwing this all on me. I don’t have to tell you anything, and you are going to get out of my room!”  
  
“Who’s going to make me?” Draco retorted, smirk turning into a sneer that Hermione knew all too well. In fact, she was wondering where it had gone to. She had been hoping it had crawled under a dark little rock somewhere never to return, but she was mistaken and foolish in her wishes. This was Draco Malfoy. He was never going to change.   
  
She didn’t even know that she had wanted him too.  _That’s it, I’m having a mental breakdown_ , Hermione thought. Her brain whole-heartedly agreed. It was burning to a crisp with all the contradictions and epiphanies.   
  
“Not you, surely,” he said, circling her. “You  _Mudbloods_ couldn’t boss me around even if there were a zillion of you.”   
  
“That’s it!” Hermione yelled, loosing her cool. “Get. Out.  _Now_!” She hissed the last word through clenched teeth, blood thrumming through her veins angrily.   
  
“Or what?” Draco asked, smirk curling darkly on his lips. “You’ll call your pathetic Muggle parents and make me? Oh wait!,” he said, when a thought hit him, “Don’t even bother trying your parents, ‘cause you have precious little Dommanic to help you, don’t you?” Draco laughed mirthlessly, seeing the confirmation in her eyes. “He won’t come.”   
  
“You don’t know that,” Hermione retorted, angrily.  _How dare he meddle in my private affairs._  
“Oh, but I  _do_ ,” Draco answered cryptically. His expression unnerved her. It was dark, sinister, and then, out of nowhere, it was  _smug_.   
  
 _He knows something I don’t know_. It was both. Hermione gulped. All of the sudden, this situation was getting out of control.  _Way_ out of control. She could feel her hands starting to shake. She was  _always_  in control.   
  
Draco’s eyes were mocking her.  _Not anymore_ , they seemed to say. His lips were curled, as if in ironic amusement. The effect was devastating to Hermione’s nerves. Her nostrils flared, face tinged pink with anger. “Back to the old ‘god’ charade, are we? How  _Malfoy_  of you,” she said, making it an insult as only she could.   
  
Draco smirked. “You know, you’re not even worthy of my presence."  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes. She was going to explode. She truly was. “Why, _Malfoy_ , because I’m a--”   
  
“Mudblood?” Draco said, with a mocking smile. “It’s more than that.”   
  
“Enlighten me,” Hermione hissed.   
  
“You see, you little  _bookworm,_  you’re worse than a clueless muggle. Chess. You’ve heard of the game, right?”   
  
 _Well, that came out of nowhere._ Of course she had. It was a stupid question, he was just belittling her. Ron played all the time. She was utter rubbish at it. But her interest was piqued. She wanted to know. He knew that she wanted to know. He grinned. He was the cat, and she was the mouse, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. “How does chess have anything to do with this conversation?” She said impatiently, trying to mask her curiosity. He was insulting her intelligence and wasting her time.   
  
Draco smirked. “Well, you see, Granger, in chess, there’s only checkmate. Nothing else.You loose, your you win. In other words: Either you’re a Muggle, or a Wizard. There are no in-betweens. There were never meant to be in-betweens. You’re an in-between: no one desires you. No one wants a stalemate, Granger. It’s the worst there is. You either win, or loose. Wizard, or Muggle. No  _ties_. You see what I’m saying?”   
  
Hermione was frozen with the force of her anger. She didn’t know what to say. He had been so brainwashed that he didn’t know what nonsense he was sprouting. “I’m so  _sick_ ,” Hermione spat with disgust, “Of you belittling me and berating because of my blood. Why does it matter, Malfoy? I’m just as good, if not better that you, at wielding magic. It doesn’t _matter_ , in the end. Stop treating me like I’m beneath you.”   
  
“Beneath me can be a rewarding place,” Draco murmured, then his face went taut, as if he couldn‘t believe what had just come out of his mouth.   
  
“Says who?” Hermione said before she could help herself.  _Blood hell, where had that question come from?_  And that's what she got for speaking without thinking. This was NOT the time to be making basic mistakes like that!  
  
Draco’s eyes lit up. “Curious, are we, Granger? I’d show you, but--”   
  
“I’m a Mudblood, right?” Hermione interjected seethingly. “Is if I’d ever  _want_  you to show me,” She laughed menacingly.   
  
Draco looked flustered for a moment. But as soon as the expression flitted onto his face, it disappeared; Hermione couldn’t even be sure that the expression was there. She took a moment to survey him, and suddenly her eyes fell to what he was wearing. For some reason, it reminded her of Dommanic’s outfit. Her eyes sharpened,  _That’s odd._ His shirt buttons. They looked like Dommanic's dress shirt buttons.  
  
Suddenly, she wished she had been paying more attention. She felt as though she was just learning that she hadn’t been staying on top of things and situations, like his one for existence. She forgot about the buttons. Hermione felt the anger drain from her. This was stupid. “Just get out of my room, Malfoy, and I will politely ignore my thirst to kill you,” she sighed. “Keep my hair band, whatever. I’ll just get a new one after you leave.”  
  
Draco’s eyes narrowed disbelievingly. “You’re giving up?”   
  
“No,” Hermione said out of pride. “I’m just tired of playing your little mind games, Malfoy.”   
  
“Oh, they’re not games at all,” Draco said, stepping toward her, expression dark and foreboding. “This whole thing may be a game, but what I’m doing to you, that’s  _real.”_    
  
Hermione edged around the bed as he stalked towards her. Her eyes narrowed. “And what’s that Malfoy? What  _are_  you doing to me?” she asked sarcastically.   
  
He came up to the other side her bed so that the only object between them was an array of wood, feathers, and covers. “You tell me, Granger.”   
  


* * *

  
  
Draco looked at a very flushed Hermione Granger, and cocked his head. All sorts of emotions kept running through his veins. Anger, amusement, intrigue, disgust, and last but not bloody least, lust. He didn’t like the last one. In face, it almost made him want to cut his eyes out. It burned through his body as if it was a deadly poison. But he couldn’t stop it. No matter how hard he tried, he still  _wanted_ her: the bushy haired, know-it-all, stubborn bookworm, Mudblood wench, Hermione Granger. It disgusted him to no end. He _hated_  himself for it. So he took it out on her. It distracted him to the point that it distracted him from his purpose. Like getting the spell. Almost absurdly, he didn’t want to get it. His mind instantly berated him for the idea.  _She’s a Mudblood, you fool. Order her to tell you!_  
  
He laughed mentally at this idea _. Order_  her  _around? Hermione Granger? Ha. That’s funny, really it is._  He could bully her all he wanted, but she never responded. Ever.   
  
A plan suddenly began to form in his mind. “Well, Granger?” He prompted. He was torn between not wanting to know the answer and wanting to know it.   
  
He watched as she glared at him, eyes knowing that he had trapped her. If she answered, she’d be lying, if she didn’t say a word, she’d confirm that she wanted whatever this curse was between them.   
  
The last thing he expected to see was triumph in her eyes. His own narrowed. There was no way out of the corner he put her in. No  _way._  
  
“You’re making me realize how childish you are.” She smirked at him, and opened her mouth to say more when he interrupted her, raw anger in voice. “In comparison to whom?” He asked, and then it hit him what this was all about.   
  
He almost couldn’t take the irony. His lip curled up in devilish amusement. He lifted a brow at her, “Dommanic?”   
  
Hermione’s eyes said it all. Draco almost died from the irony. She was in love with his alter ego. Someone who didn’t even exist. This was just too good! Her fairytale ending was shot, from the very beginning. He began to laugh, the humor of it all consuming him.   
  
“Stop mocking me, ferret. Just because you don’t--”   
  
“Don't what? Know what ‘love’ is?” Draco interceded, using quotation fingers. He laughed again. “He doesn’t love you, Granger, that much I  _do_ know.”   
  
“Oh, so now you’re all knowing?” Hermione snarled from the other side of the bed. Her fingers were clenching the covers in anger.   
  
Draco smirked. “Well, someone once told me I was a god.”   
  
Hermione threw her hands up into the air, and let out a sound of frustration. He started laughing again. She whirled around and opened the window letting the cool morning air splash on her hot face. She couldn’t stand this. Her fingers itched to reach out and throttle him, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch him. She didn’t  _want_  to find out where that would lead. Even though her body thought different. Her ring burned insistently.  _Just tempt him_ , it seemed to whisper. But Hermione couldn’t let herself. She  _wouldn’t_ let herself.   
  
He would never kiss her. She was everything he was against, and vice versa. The silver band glared at her. She looked away from it and breathed in the night air, ignoring his laughter. She was almost calm when she heard the unmistakable creak from her bed.  _No he did not…_  
  
She whirled around to see him sprawled out on her bed, facing up. He put his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling, an amused expression on his face. “I’ll make it simply for you, Granger,” he drawled lazily. “Either you give me the spell, or I really won’t leave.” he shifted on her cover and pulled out his wand from a pocket in his pants. He absently twirled it between his long, strong fingers.   
  
Hermione watched the movement with narrowed eyes, tensed and ready for almost anything. She was defenseless: her wand was in her dresser drawer. She quickly calculated mentally, but knew that she wouldn’t be able to get to it before he’d figure out what she was doing.   
  
She resisted the urge to bite her lip.   
  
“So what’s it going to be, Granger?”   
  
He didn’t even spare her a glance. His stance was nonchalant, he looked right at home on her four post _. My four post_. Hermione bristled. He was on her  _bed_. She  _slept_  there. “Get off my bed,” Hermione hissed suddenly.   
  
“Let me guess,” Draco drawled lazily, still twirling his wand. “Or you’ll ‘make me’.” He said the last two words, and made quotation marks in the air.  
  
“Oo!” Hermione retorted. “We have a winner! Step out the door to claim your prize!” She gave him a sickly sweet smile.   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “If you weren’t so amusing, I’d’ve killed you by now--”   
  
“I doubt that,” Hermione snorted.   
  
“I can’t kill you,” Draco answered, his honesty shocking her for a second. “You  _know_ that.”   
  
“Convenient for me, right?” Hermione crossed her arms. “Yay, me. I suppose I should be  _grateful._ ” She finished with sarcasm.   
  
“Don’t push me, Granger,” Draco said menacingly. He stood up and then with earth shattering speed, he cursed the window shut, and then whirled around to curse the door.   
  
Hermione didn’t miss a beat: she shot to the dresser and tangled the drawer open, and grasped for her wand. The wedding was tomorrow: this was her best shot to get him apprehended. She couldn’t screw it up!   
  
Hermione fingers curled around the wood just as Draco whirled back around from securing the door.   
  
Anger twisted his face as he shot a spell at her. She ducked just as it passed: her bed sheet went up in flames. She quickly shot an ‘augmenti’ at the covers and then stood up, wand pointing steadily in front of her, chest heaving slightly.   
  
“I thought it was about time we started acting like adults,” Draco said with a smirk, his own wand pointed at her.   
  
“The spell isn’t worth getting your butt kicked, you little snake,” Hermione warned.   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I could kick your little Mudblood tush out the window in two seconds.”   
  
“Then prove it,” Hermione said, and without warning, she shot a spell at him that he flicked away.   
  
“This feels like a repeat,” Draco said, as he dodged her spell and shot another in her general direction. One of her bed posts exploded into wooden shards, a couple of them diving into her scream. Hermione bit her lip in pain, but retaliated with one of her own. She missed: a clay pitcher full of water exploded, dousing Draco with water.   
  
He spluttered.   
  
“Not such a repeat now,  _is it_?” Hermione shot at him. “Last time, we were in  _your_  room, remember?”   
  
Draco threw a spell at her with such ferocity that she almost wasn’t able to block it. She stumble back, the power of her own spell repelling his pushing her back like an unseen force.   
  
“I do,” Draco said coolly, even though his face was furious, “But that time,” He said, this time blocking a spell; the force of it propelled him into the wall. There was a sickening crack as his back collided with the unyielding stone. He pushed himself, and put up a shield in front of him to block another zinger she threw his way, so he could get up, “We were fighting about the  _same damned thing_!”   
  
His shield dropped and he threw another spell at her, and while she blocked it, he sent another.   
  
“Why is it--” Hermione declared while spitting of another spell with the flick of her wrist, “that we keep returning to this same scenario?”   
  
“Oh, look,” Draco rolled his eyes, and jabbed another spell in her direction, “There’s the bookworm we all hate. Overanalyzing things.  _Again_.” He could practically hear the wheels whirring in her head.  
  
Hermione gritted her teeth as she blocked a spell. “I think it’s fate, Malfoy," She quickly decided, "We keep redoing this moment the  _same_  way. We have to do it  _differently.”_    
  
With that pronouncement, Draco’s eyes lit up with life. Hermione went frozen for a second, an odd thing to do in the middle of a duel. Her body went hot as his lips curled in a smirk, and he clashed gazes with hers, and then, before she could blink, his wand flicked and sent a spell spinning her direction.   
  
Hermione wasn’t quick enough to block it, she had just opened her mouth repel it when she felt the spell hit her. It threw her against the wall and into a sitting position. The thin spell that she had barely seen heading her way, zipped around her while she was reorienting herself, and then expanded like a spider web. It circled her body, cocooning her like a fly. More strands flew out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around her torso, fastening her arms to her sides. He cut off the spell, just as the spell moved to her legs.   
  
Her wand clattered to the floor. “If your theory is right, little miss know-it-all,” Draco said menacingly as he stepped towards her. “Then we  _are_ doing it differently. You know why?”   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, unable to move. She was the fly, and he was the spider. She didn’t like the situation one bit. “Why, Malfoy?” she entertained him.   
  
“Because I’m going to win,” he said softly, dangerously. He pulled out a vile from his coat. “Do you know what this is?” He drawled, dangling it in the air. Hermione's eyes followed it as it swung, almost hypnotized.  
  
It took a moment for Hermione to tap into her Hogwarts knowledge: she had been away from it for what seemed like ages. She surveyed the vile in his hands: It was small, not even half filled. It looked like it was filled with water-   
  
Then it hit her: her blood froze. “You wouldn’t dare!” She hissed through clenched teeth.   
  
“Oh, but I  _would_ ,” He answered, kneeling, so that his face was close to hers. “Veritaserum is a funny potion. Especially when only a drop will make you tell me what I want. However, if my hand should  _slip_ ,” he said, the famous Malfoy smirk curled on his face, “and another couple drops fall between those stubborn lips of yours, you’ll be telling me your darkest secrets-”   
  
“I don’t  _have_ any secrets,” Hermione said, wishing she could shift under his gaze. It made her uncomfortable.   
  
“Oh, but I  _bet_  you do,” He said, his face only a couple inches away from hers, grey eyes probing hazel ones. “In fact, after you tell me the spell, I’m going to  make you share some of those secrets. And then, I’m going to leave to win this bloody game, and while I do, you’re going to sit here on the cold, uncomfortable, stone floor, hating yourself for telling me.”   
  
“You wouldn’t do that--”   
  
“But I would, I can, and I  _will_ ,” Draco drawled. “And you know what the  _best_ thing is? Your precious little Dommanic _doesn’t_  care.”   
  
“You’re wrong,” Hermione snarled, wishing she could wrap her fingers around his neck and strangle him. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”   
  
“But I  _do_ , Granger. You’re underestimating me.”   
  
“I’m not.”   
  
He reached out and trailed a finger down her cheek. “He didn’t want you. No one wants you in the way you want to be wanted. And how does that feel?” He asked, his finger retracting from her face. She looked into his unreadable eyes.   
  
Her heart stopped. He had been there. He had heard them. He had--. Hermione fought the tears. He had seen her ultimate humiliation. And he was right. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, anything, and then realized again, that her reaction had been gauged. She had made a mistake.  Too late, she tried to close her mouth.  
  
His hand flew right at her face, vial uncorked. The vial was upturned in her open mouth before she could say another word. His other hand wrenched her head back, so the potion would go down without delay. She struggled, trying to wrench her head away from his hand, but she couldn’t do it.   
  
He tossed the vial to the floor, and used both hands to still her head.   
  
She desperately tried to cough it out, make herself vomit, but she couldn’t do it. He put his hand over her mouth, “Swallow it, Granger.”   
  
She shook her head. He didn’t say anything. He was going to wait her out. Then she knew: She failed. She had to swallow: and she did. Her plans went down the tubes with that single motion. He was going to win now, and there was nothing she could do about it. The wedding would never happen, because by the time he had the spell, he would rush out of here, and sail away. She would never be able to catch up. She cursed herself mentally. How had she let this happen?   
  
Draco pushed himself away from her, He reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a crisp handkerchief. He reached out to her face to wipe off a few drops that hadn’t made it into her mouth.   
  
She jerked her head a way violently, and held back a wince when a fierce kink in her muscle made an appearance.   
  
He raised an eyebrow at her, and took his other hand to hold her struggling head still and wiped the potion off of her cheek. “That’s better. Isn’t that better, Granger?”   
  
Hermione glared at him, saying ‘No’, but her mouth opened and said, “Yes.”   
  
Draco grinned with malice. “Perfect.”   
  
He kneeled in front of her, and smiled. “I won, didn’t I?”   
  
Hermione shut her eyes and replied, “Not yet.” But he would soon.   
  
His grey eyes went steely cold. “Then I guess we should fix that. So tell me, once and for all,” He said slowly, so that she wouldn’t find any way to cleverly misinterpret what he was asking of her, “what spell did you use on the--”   
  
Suddenly, there was an explosion. Debris blasted into the room in form of splintered wood from the door, and several stones from the surrounding doorway. Draco threw his hands around his head, and then wrenched around to see what was going on.   
  
She heard his voice, “What in  _bloody_ \--”   
  
She heard a shout, and then she saw was Draco flying into the air before he smashed right into her. Hermione saw a shadow in the doorway a split second before her head cracked with a sickening sound against the wall.  _Turns out Murphy’s law had it in for Malfoy too,_  she thought weakly, as the pain in her skull overwhelmed her.  _Imagine that. Muggle laws apply to purebloods, too_. She would have smirked, but her limbs went slack. The irony, ah, the irony.  
  
“Hermione?“ a very familiar voice asked. She heard footsteps nearing her. If only she could say something....  
  
But when she tried to answer, everything went black.


	29. Prelude

Her head felt like it was splitting apart. There were voices around her, hushed, some whispering, some yelling. She tried to move, but she found that she couldn’t. She was being weighed down by something….   
  
“She’s my bloody friend, you stupid dolt!”   
  
Hermione winced as the voices went louder. Her head hurt so terribly. She wanted to tell them to be quiet, but she couldn’t quite find her voice.   
  
“Do not use that tone with me, sir, or you’ll be thrown out of the room at once!”   
  
She knew that voice. It was a familiar voice… A really familiar one.   
  
“You think I’m joking, don’t you, wiggy? Well, I’m  _not._  Her bloody  _head_ got smashed against a bloody _wall_ \--”   
  
“And her ears will be bloody too if you don’t shut up,” Hermione moaned, voice cracking from dehydration.   
  
“Hermione?”   
  
She heard a few pairs of feet scuffle over to her bed. A shadow came up over your face. And only then could she place the voice. She didn’t know how she didn’t pin it before. “Yes, Ron?” She managed weakly.   
  
“You alright?”   
  
She could hear the deep concern in his voice. She felt like a cat who’d been run over more than once, but decided that he didn’t need to know that. “I’m fine, Ron.”   
  
“You’re lying,” he said, not being accusing at all: if anything, it was an understanding tone. Like he knew she didn’t want him to be concerned.   
  
Well, she was just going to stick to her story. Hermione peeked up at him with one eye. “I’m fine.”   
  
His eyes were laughing down at her. “I’ve reasoned this out,” he started. “When girls say that ‘they’re fine’, it means that--”   
  
“What happened?” she interjected, trying to stop his mad tirade. He was starting to understand women far too well (scary), and she wasn’t about to encourage that knowledge. Her head throbbed smashingly. She tried to open her eyes all the way, but the light hurt them too much. “Who saved me?”   
  
She looked up and Ron’s ears were flaming red. “Well, no one really saved you, Hermione.”   
  
She tried to make an exasperated face, but her muscles simply didn’t want to comply. Ron sighed. “It was an accident, really. The military got up early this morning, and one of them-Robin, decided he’d get into a fight with one of the other guys, and-don’t ask me how- but a canon blew and it just happened to go through the hallway and crash into your room.”   
  
“Ah,” Hermione answered. “So who was there the second after it happened?”   
  
“I was walking through the hallway.”   
  
“So  _you’re_  my hero,” Hermione grinned weakly.   
  
“I didn’t know that you needed saving.” Suddenly, Ron’s voice acquired a mean edge. “What was Malfoy doing in your room?”   
  
Hermione sighed. “Long story.”   
  
“I want to know,” Ron persisted. If Hermione had been watching, she would have seen his face hard with anger. It was a new type of anger, one that she would never had seen on Ron’s face, typically. “What was he doing there?” He repeated.   
  
Hermione sighed. “We were fighting about the treasure.”   
  
“And you were losing,” Ron finished for her.   
  
“No, I wasn’t--”   
  
“But you were,” He answered. “I saw. You were all wrapped up in some sort of goo.”   
  
“Spider webs,” Hermione corrected. “They were spider webs.” She tried to sit up; Ron took her elbow and propped her pillow behind her back. The sheets came up with her: she had tucked it under her bare arms. She rolled her neck around: the action seemed like nonchalance to Ron. That made him angry.  _Can’t she see the trouble she was in?_  
“It doesn’t matter what they are, were, whatever! He was trying to hurt you! No one hurts my friends.”   
  
Hermione said nothing to this. What he said was true. “Where is he?” Hermione asked, fiddling with her bed sheets. They were heavy and raw. They felt scratchy on her skin. She ducked her chin a little to look down at what she was wearing, then realized that underneath the sheets…   
  
She wore nothing at all.   
  
And if anything was a problem: her clothes in her room had probably been obliterated. She tried to calm her nerves, it was the only thing she could do right now. She had to plan her getaway. Time was running out., “Where is he?” Hermione asked again, when Ron didn’t answer.   
  
Ron looked away from her, and she saw the anger. “I put him in the dungeons.”   
  
“Good,” Hermione sighed. “That’s good.” She dropped her head back in relief. He was out of her way for now. She just had to get out of this blasted bed and get a plan in motion. She had to get Harry’s signet and leave as soon as she possibly could.   
  
A friendly silence filled the room, and Ron just sat there, looking at Hermione. “When’s the wedding?” She asked.   
  
“In about an hour. Everyone is dressed and ready to go.”   
  
Hermione’s eyes flew open wide. “An hour? Why aren‘t you there yet?” she feigned innocence. There was no way she was going to ask if she could go. She had almost died. She would use that excuse so her operation could stay undercover.   
  
“Well, yes--”   
  
“Oh, go Ron. I’m fine! You’ll be missed. You’re the best man, right?”   
  
Ron sighed. “They don’t have best men in this age, Hermione. Get a grip.” He grinned though, as Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course she knew that.   
  
“But I do have to be at the wedding. Do you want to come?”   
  
Hermione sighed, and then feigned pain. If she was going to ‘stay here’, she was going to have to convince Ron that there was no way she could go. “I’m still in a lot of pain, Ron.” She winced as she spoke.   
  
He looked at her strangely. “Are you sure?”   
  
Hermione was almost annoyed at her friend’s politeness. She had to go, already! Time was being wasted. Precious time that Draco was plotting to get out of the dungeons. Hermione almost had no doubt that he would figure out a way. He was a Malfoy. His father had bought out the ministry, surely it wouldn’t be too hard to bribe a jail keeper. “Positive,” Hermione answered. “I really wish I could go Ron, I just… I ache miserably.”   
  
He almost didn’t buy it. She could see it on his face. He had gotten a lot more perceptive, she should have noticed that earlier. He sighed. “Alright. Just ring that bell,” he said pointedly, looking at a little bell on a stand beside her bed, “If you need anyone. There are still a few nurses bustling about around here.”   
  
Hermione nodded her head. She looked over at the bell and noticed her wand laying beside it. She itched to reach out and hold it. In a friendly gesture, Ron squeezed her hand, leaned in and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.   
  
Hermione, almost belatedly remembered that she was ‘aching’ and hugged him weakly as she protested. “That hurts, Ron.” She let out a faint laugh, inviting him to laugh with her.   
  
He stood up and looked down at her. “Take care, Hermione, alright? I’ll come and check on you after the wedding.”   
  
Hermione nodded with a small smile. “Thank you, Ron.”   
  
He gave her a smile in return and opened the door, then turned around, “Hermione?”   
  
“Yes?” she answered, looking at him.   
  
“Remember to ring the bell if you need anyone.”   
  
Hermione grinned.  _Friendship_. She had begun to miss it. “I will, Ron. Now shoo. You have a wedding to catch!”   
  
He almost grimaced.   
  
“Poor Harry,” Hermione commented.   
  
“You have no idea,” Ron answered with chagrin, and then he left, out the door, with one more glance back at her.   
  
Then the door shut: leaving her room still and quiet as before.   
  
She waited for a few minutes, fidgeting with the covers, before she reached over and snatched her wand off the table. She shot a healing spell at herself, and her headache vanished. She looked at her naked body: just a few bruises was all. There was a bandage on one side, but she peeled it up and muttered a spell at a nasty gash. The would resisted for a moment, and then seamed together.   
  
She looked around, feeling very odd. She was naked: and there were no clothes in the room. She looked at her bedcovers and groaned.   
  
This was going to be humiliating.   
  
Stealth and Bed sheets do _not_  go hand in hand.   
  
Regretfully, she reached out and grabbed one of the bed sheets.   
  
 _McGonagall wasn’t kidding when she said this was going to be an adventure_.   
  
With that last thought, Hermione opened the door and peeked into the hallway.   
  
 _Yes,_  Hermione conceded sarcastically, _today is a great day to go streaking_.   
  
McGonagall wasn’t kidding when she said that people changed in this game either. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment to calm her hectic nerves. She was level headed, she could do this.   
  
And then, with a butterfly doing circus tricks in her stomach, she stepped out into the hall, wearing nothing but a bed sheet.   
  
 _Stupid Malfoy._    
  


* * *

  
  
Pansy grabbed Ron’s arm as he walked briskly around a curve. She was dressed nicely, which almost shocked Ron. Her light green dress was very modest: the neckline wasn’t plunging to her navel, there was no slit up to midthigh..   
  
She almost looked…. sweet.   
  
Ron knew better. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.   
  
“What did she say?” Pansy asked, loping her arm through his, as if she just hadn’t jerked him within an inch of his life.   
  
“She’s not coming.”   
  
Pansy could hear the disappointment in his voice: it annoyed her. She didn’t know why. He wasn’t supposed to care about the Mudblood. He was supposed to be completely devoted to being her boy toy. Her eyes narrowed. “Good.”   
  
Ron shrugged. “I wish she could go.”   
  
“But she’s not,” Pansy said scathingly, “So you’re just going to have to deal with it.”   
  
Ron took his hand and pushed her had off of his other arm, eyes wide as he looked at her. “What do you mean?”   
  
“She’s not coming, so stop moping around,” she almost hissed and stalked away two steps before Ron’s hand snatched her upper arm and jerked her so she’d be looking at him. “What’s your problem?” she spat.   
  
“What’s  _yours?”_  Ron retorted. “Everything was going just fine until now. You’re being--”   
  
“Don’t you  _dare_  finish that sentence, Weasley. Don’t you dare.”   
  
“So we’re back to Weasley, now?” He said, eyes narrowing. His red hair hung lower on his forehead than usual. He had to tie it up in the back because it had gotten quite long in the time he had been in the game. He looked slightly like his brother Bill. All he was missing was the earring, but he wasn’t going to get that any time soon.   
  
He looked right into her sparkling green eyes. “I may not be the smartest wizard, but I’m not stupid.”   
  
“I never said you were,” Pansy said, shrinking back slightly from the anger in his eyes.   
  
“You didn’t have to say it. Stop treating me like it.” He let go of her arm and starting walking away from her down the hallway.   
  
“Just where do you think you’re going?” She called after him.   
  
“Out.”   
  
“Out?”   
  
He didn’t even turn around as he turned a corner. Pansy’s eyes narrowed at the empty hallway. No one treated her like that. She felt an odd strong feeling rush through her veins. Anger and something else she couldn’t place. She turned and stalked the other way, having to pick up her skirts so she could walk faster. Her face was set with sheer determination. She had things to do today, and one of them was go to a blasted wedding. Her date had just walked off without her.   
  
She turned the opposite corner and went off to find Theodore. He would be perfect.   
Her lips curled into a smirk. _I wonder what Ron will think about that._  
And then she realized, she didn’t care what he thought. She just wanted him to hurt as much as she was hurting right now. And that’s all that mattered.   
  


* * *

  
  
Susan buttoned the last silk covered button on her white glove with her left hand as she walked out the door. She turned around and locked it, and hung the key around her neck.   
  
She turned around to walk into a solid body. “What--”   
  
“You should  _never_ let the guy who’s head over heels for you see where you put your key. It makes it so much easier to steal.”   
  
Susan blushed as Thaddius let her go. “What are you doing here?”   
  
He shrugged. “I came to see you.”   
  
“In my room, or out of my room?” She gave him a saucy wink and tried to step away from the door, but Thaddius took her shoulders and pushed her back into the wood. He looked down at her, eyes dancing. “Depends if I can get my hands on that key of yours.”   
  
Susan blushed and pushed him away, grinning foolishly. “You could only be so lucky.”   
  
Thaddius’s eyes lit up wickedly. “Oh, is that so?”   
  
Susan grinned mischievously, and took his arm. “Maybe later.”   
  
“ _Maybe_?” Thaddius repeated, in mock shock. “I need to improve my chances. I don’t like the sound of ’maybe’.”   
  
Susan looked over at him as they walked down the hallway. “Well, you’ll just have to do your best, then.”   
  
He stopped in the hallway, and pushed her up by the window, looking around to make sure no one was watching. He took her hand into his, and traced the button on her glove, looking at her for a moment. Her eyes were wide, and darker than the usual brown that they were. They sparkled with something that Thaddius didn’t need a dictionary for to understand.   
  
He unbuttoned the first button, and she her mouth parted as his finger gently traced the naked skin underneath. He peeled off her glove from her fingers, and while having his gaze locked with hers, he lifted her knuckles to his lips and grazed them lightly.   
  
She was burning up, as his gaze bored into hers. She bit her lip as he turned her hand over and placed a kiss in the center of her palm.   
  
Then, she just couldn’t take it anymore. She gripped his shoulders and pulled him to her. His hands slipped around her waist, and she wrapped her fingers around his neck.   
  
Their lips locked for a moment, and fire consumed them. The roaring in their ears was so loud that they didn’t hear the heels clicking down the hallway. “Wow.”   
  
Thaddius and Susan sprung apart, to look at the person who disturbed them.   
  
Pansy glared at the couple, green eyes angrier than they had ever seen them. “Go get a room.”   
  
When she was sure that Pansy wasn’t going to stab her, Susan laughed. “Get a life, Parkinson.”   
  
Pansy opened her mouth to say something, but then thought twice about it and continued stalking down the hallway.   
  
Thaddius watched her leave and then grinned at Susan. “I think we should take her advice.”   
  
“Take Pansy’s advice?” Susan raised a brow. “That might not be a good idea.”   
  
“Actually,” He returned, tugging the key out of it’s hiding place, finger around the chain, “I think it’s the best idea she’s had yet.”   
  
He pulled her to him again, and meshed his lips against hers.   
  
“Susan?”   
  
Thaddius broke away from her again. “Is it impossible to snog without interruptions?” he asked to no one in particular.   
  
He turned away from Susan again, and then froze. Every single one of his muscles locked in place except for the one in his jaw. It ticked with extreme agitation. “Zabini.”   
  
But Blaise wasn’t looking at Thaddius. He was looking at Susan, shock riddled all over his face. Susan’s face was pale, as if she had just seen a ghost.   
  
“Blaise?”   
  
His look of shock and disbelief slowly transformed until his dark eyes glittered with anger. “Don’t ever call me by my first name again. You don’t have the right, Bones.”   
  
Without another word he strode away, and around the corner: the same direction Pansy had gone.   
  
Thaddius tore his eyes away, and looked back at Susan, whose eyes were blank. “Sooz?”   
  
She looked at him, as if she didn’t know him. “I need to be alone.”   
  
 _No. Not after I just got her!_  “Susan, please don’t do this. Please,” he asked, eyes pleading with her.   
  
She shook her head, brown eyes sad. “I need to think.”   
  
She lifted her arm, and her fingers touched his cheek over so softly. Then her hand dropped at she turned away from him, and walked away.   
  
And he let her. It tore him up inside, but he let her.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Theodore sat in the room, watching Raven struggle to button up the back of her dress. It was almost funny. “Hey, Theo, can you--“   
  
“No.” He closed his eyes and leaned back. She could deal with it herself. His muscles just started relaxing when someone banged a fist on the door.   
  
He stood up, annoyed, and yanked the door open. “What do you--”   
  
Pansy swept into the room, cutting him off. He felt the anger roll off her in waves. “What slipped into your pumpkin juice, Pansy?”   
  
She shot him a glare that cut him cold. “You’re escorting me to the wedding,” she ordered. Raven looked at them for a moment before wrestling with the button again.   
  
Thaddius’s eyebrows flew up. “Excuse me?”   
  
“You heard me,” she said whirling around and walking over to the closet. Their rooms were connected by a door in a wall. Theo had been in the girl’s room. She rummaged around, cursing under her breath, until she pulled out a crème fan. She tucked it into her ribbon band and went over to the mirror.   
  
“I thought you had a date,” Theodore said, moving his jacket with a smooth motion and put his hand into his pocket. He leaned against the wall as he watched Pansy re-apply make up.   
  
“I do. It’s you.” She looked at him through the mirror with a look that stopped all the questions in his mouth. He raised a brow at her.   
  
Raven looked at Pansy over her shoulder. “Pansy, could you--”   
  
“No.”   
  
Then, someone else knocked on the door. Theodore’s jaw locked, irritated.   
  
He walked over to the door, agitated, and yanked it open, like he had before. “What do you--”   
  
Blaise shouldered him out of the way. “I’m so  _sick_  of this game,” he exclaimed.   
  
Pansy looked over her shoulder at Blaise. “Ditto.”   
  
Raven’s eyes lit up. “Blaise! Do you think--”   
  
“No,” Blaise snapped.   
  
Raven narrowed her eyes, stopping her fight with the blasted button. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”   
  
Pansy whirled around. “Maybe we will, when you stop prying in everyone’s business.   
  
 _Wow. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed_ , Theodore thought angrily and sat back down in the seat with force, splaying himself. He watched Pansy and Blaise communicate without words. “You and Blaise just go together.”   
  
Pansy gritted her teeth. “ _Fine_ , Knott. Get your knickers out of a bunch, would you?”   
  
“ _My_  knickers are in a bunch?” Theodore let out a harsh laugh. “Look at your own, would you?”   
  
Pansy rolled her eyes, and finished applying the charcoal to the tops of her eyes, throwing her innocent look to the wolves.   
  
“I’d be glad to take you,” Blaise said. His voice wavered angrily.   
  
Raven hopped around, trying to get the last button fixed. “Blaise, will you--”   
  
“Forget it, Trapper.”   
  
“Merlin, what is your  _problem_?” Thaddius said, leaping out of the chair. “Either tell us what’s going on,” he said pointedly to Pansy and Blaise, “Or stop being arses.”   
  
“ _We’re_ being arses?” Pansy scoffed. Her eyes trailed up and down his figure.  
  
Theodore’s eyes glittered as he stalked over to Raven and buttoned her last button for her. She didn’t even say thank you. His face was too angry for anyone to say anything to him.   
  
Pansy and Blaise looked at each other and remained silent. Theodore growled in frustration, and grabbed Raven’s arm, and headed towards the door. “But I haven’t put on my--”   
  
“I don’t care,” he said, as he pushed her though the open door. Right before he slammed it shut, he looked at Pansy and Blaise, “When you guys are ready to be normal again, let me know.”   
  
The door slammed shut with such force that a splinter of wood shot out and clattered onto the floor.   
  
Pansy looked at Blaise. He shrugged and went to sit down in the seat that Theodore had vacated.   
  
It was going to be a bloody long evening, that was for sure.   
  


* * *

  
  
Harry sat alone in his room, trussed up like a goose. It was worse than the masquerade outfit that he had worn. And he had asked for understated clothes. Seemed that the Wigs didn’t know what ‘understated’ meant. If this was understated…. Harry sighed and looked into the mirror. “I look like a grandmother playing dress-up," he muttered under his breath.  
  
He turned this way and that, a scowl on his face.  _The person who made this should be shot!_  Normally, Harry was a benevolent, kind person… Just not when he was trussed up like a goose.   
  
There was a knock on the door. Harry gave one last nostalgic look in the mirror and sighed. “Come in.”   
  
And then regretted it. “Cho! You’re not supposed to--”   
  
Cho shut the door, and held up a hand. Harry’s words died in his mouth when he saw the look on her face. “I’m putting it out on the table right now, Harry.”   
  
Harry nodded, almost relieved that she didn’t make a jibe about his clothes.   
  
“I’m not going to be faithful to you, and you’re going to protect me while I do it.”   
  
Harry’s green eyes went as wide as his circular glass frames. “Come again?”   
  
“You heard me.” She sighed. “This marriage is a bad idea.”   
  
Harry looked at her, beautiful in her pristine white gown. _At least she doesn’t look like a clown._  “It’s just a game, Cho.”   
  
“But not to them!” She said, referring to the Wigs. “They don’t think it’s a game. They don’t  _know_.”   
  
Harry sighed. “Who is it?”   
  
She looked taken aback for a moment. “Who is who?”   
  
“They guy you’re going to commit adultery with.”   
  
Cho’s face blanched. “ _Harry--”_    
  
“Kidding, kidding,” Harry said with a wry smile on his face. “So, who is he?”   
  
Cho murmured something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘eggville’.   
  
“Pardon?” Harry asked. “I didn’t quite catch that.”   
  
“Neville.”   
  
“ _Neville?”_    
  
“ _YES,_  Neville.” Cho’s eyes lit up with fire. “What, do you disapprove,  _your highness_?”   
  
Harry tried to choke back a laugh. It took him completely by surprise. Cho and… Neville. “No, I don’t disapprove. I’m just shocked.”   
  
Her eyes narrowed--   
  
“ _No!_  Not like  _that!”_  Harry said, almost defensively. “What I mean is, when did it happen? I didn’t know.”   
  
Her eyes searched his. Harry was almost afraid of what she would find there. The cover-up he just made? Most likely.   
  
To his relief, she took in a deep breath. “It’s been on for maybe the third week of the game.”   
  
Harry grinned. “Really?”  _Neville’s been working hard! Must’ve given up that sweater he was knitting because he’s been snogging so much!_ “Yes, really!” Cho had the decency to blush. “So, you’ll do it?”   
  
“Do what?” Harry asked, almost too innocently.   
  
“Don’t make me ask again, please Harry!” Cho pleaded. “It was embarrassing enough the first time.”   
  
Harry made a ‘tsk’ noise. “Embarrassing? You stomped in here and demanded--”   
  
“I did not stomp!” Cho said indignantly.   
  
“Whatever. You marched--”   
  
“Harry…” She warned.   
  
“Fine, I’ll do it,” Harry said, done taking the mickey out of her. It was almost funny, but he was happy for them. Oddly jealous that she would cheat on him, but found that he didn’t really care at all. He had Ginny and that’s what matt---   
  
“Oh, Merlin.”   
  
Cho crossed her arms. “What?”   
  
“Well, since you’re being…  _unfaithful,_  I guess…”   
  
“You guess what?” Her eyes narrowed.   
  
“Well, I…”   
  
“You.....?”   
  
“I…”   
  
“Yes?” Cho prompted, almost impatient.   
  
“I’m seeing someone else, too.”   
  
Her face went white. “ _What_?” She spluttered.  
  
“Well, I just thought it was fair that if you--”   
  
“You can’t do that!” Cho said, suddenly  angrily, throwing her hands up in the air.   
  
“But you--”   
  
“You’d disgrace your own wife like that?” She raved angrily. “You would--”   
  
“But--!”   
  
Then Cho laughed. She  _laughed. What in bloody--_  
“Kidding,” She said, her eyes alight with genuine laughter.   
  
Harry’s green eyes went flat. “From where.”   
  
“When you started stuttering. As long as the girl is Ginny, I’m fine.”   
  
“Oh, it is!” Harry sighed in relief. Then, after a moment's pause to cool his embarrassed cheeks, he muttered: “Thanks, Cho.”   
  
She shrugged, “It’s not a problem. You’d do--You’re doing the same for me.”   
  
Harry leaned back and smiled at her. She smiled back tightly, and then walked over to the door.   
  
“Wiat!” Harry said, and put a hand on her shoulder. “You can’t be seen. You weren’t supposed to be in here anyway.”   
  
Cho nodded.   
  
“Let me look out first, ok? And if the coast is clear, you can go.”   
  
Cho grinned.   
  
“What?”   
  
“You should’ve been a pirate, Harry.”   
  
Harry grinned back. “I could have only been so lucky.”   
  
He opened the door up a few inches, to look out, when his nose got brushed by someone’s coat.   
  
“Harry!” Seamus grinned at his friend. “Playing peek-a-boo, are we?”   
  
“Oh, no,” Harry answered almost too quickly, and shaking his head. “Not at all.”   
  
“Then, why don’t you open the door?”   
  
“It’s nice and cool in there, and I don’t want the heat getting in.”   
  
He opened it a little further, and wedged himself between the doorway and the door, so that Seamus couldn’t see anything.   
  
“The heat.” Seamus repeated, disbelievingly.   
  
“Yeah,” Harry said, almost unconvincingly. “Anything you needed?”   
  
Seamus shook his head, then opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head. He grinned. “Cho Chang, huh?”   
  
“Guess so,” Harry shrugged.   
  
“Thought you were too young to get married, mate.”   
  
Harry sighed. “So did I.”   
  
Seamus punched him lightly in the shoulder. “It’s just a game, mate. Just a game. Good Luck!”   
  
Harry muttered a thanks as Seamus walked away. He looked up and down the hallway. He turned into the room. “The Coast is clear.”   
  
Cho rolled her eyes with a silly grin. “You’re being stupid.”   
  
Harry shrugged with a smile. “It’s the least I can do, really.”   
  
She rolled her eyes and walked out the door. “See you for our doom, Harry!”   
  
“Oh, yeah. Our doom. How optimistically put.” He said under his breath as he shut the door to the small room.   
  
He looked in the mirror again and sighed. He fell into a cushioned chair that was sitting in the room, and buried his face in his hands. It was almost damning, this game. It wasn’t fun anymore. In fact, it was getting old, old, and boring.   
  
He was getting  _married_ , for Merlin’s sake, and he was only seventeen.   
  
“Did you mean it?”   
  
Harry shot out of the chair, “Who’s there?” he asked, blood that had been racing an instnat before slowing down. His eyes darted around the room. A creak from behind him caused him to turn around. “Who’s there?” he repeated, again.   
  
Ginny stepped out from behind the closet door, all trussed up. “Sorry,” she said, cheeks flaming. “I just couldn’t--”   
  
“Help yourself,” Harry finished for her. He walked the two steps it took to get to her and enveloped her in a hug.   
  
They stayed that way for a moment. “You know, it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” she said, her voice muffled into his shoulder.   
  
“I could only be so lucky if something were to go wrong,” Harry chuckled and released her.   
  
“So, did you mean it?” She asked, looking up at him.   
  
He looked down at her and smiled. “Of course I did.”   
  
“But you’re still going to go through with the wedding?”   
  
“Yes,” Harry sighed. “It’s part of my role as the King.”   
  
Ginny sighed. “I don’t want to commit adultery, Harry,” she said, her voice slightly sad.   
  
Harry felt frustration run through his body. “It’s just a  _game,_  Ginny!” He said, voicing his thoughts. It was so agitating, why were people taking it so seriously?   
  
“So don’t marry her!” Ginny replied, her eyes sparking with anger. “If you really loved me, you would drop all of this playacting, and--”   
  
“Die?” Harry asked. “You know I’d do that and more for you!”  
  
“So why are you still marrying her?”   
  
“Du--”   
  
“Duty?” Ginny let out a chopped laugh. “What about your duty to the woman you supposedly  _love_?”   
  
“ _Supposedly_?” Harry repeated, disbelieving. His green eyes glittered with suppressed emotion. “You doubt me?”   
  
Ginny shook her head, ruefully, eyes glittering with tears. “You know I don’t.”   
  
“So why are you--?”   
  
Ginny held a finger to his lips. “Me or her. That’s your decision.” Her eyes searched his for yet another moment longer, and then she backed away. He opened his mouth to say something, but she jerked the door open, and slammed it shut before he could say another world.   
  
Harry stood still for half a minute and then groaned aloud, running a hand through his hair. This was more that he could handle. The obvious choice was clear. To die, or not to die? That is the question.   
  
And it wasn’t only his head on the stake, it was his, Cho’s, Neville’s, and Ginny’s. Harry sighed. If only---   
  
 _Hermione._    
  
Harry felt a sudden hope flare to life in his chest. Maybe she’d help this time. He just had to find her--   
  
He headed to the door, but suddenly, it flew open to reveal a pale faced Ron Weasley. "We have a problem."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
_Earlier that day:_  
  
  
“You’re toast, Malfoy.”   
  
Draco groaned as he felt his body return from the floating blackness he had been in for the past…. He wasn’t sure how long. “Who is that?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. His hand hovered to his head, where he felt a bump. He pressed lightly on it, then winced. That  _hurt!_    
  
“Take a guess, Malfoy.”   
  
“I would, but that would be wasting my time.”   
  
He inched his eye open to see a fluff of red in the gloomy darkness--- “Weasley.”   
  
“And we have ourselves a winner!”   
  
Draco smirked, as he pulled himself up, trying not to wince as his body groaned in pain. “I always win.” It smelled stale, and there was no light save for the torches on the wall. The ground he was on was cold and grimy. He almost curled away in disgust: if he had anywhere to curl to…   
  
“And look where it got you,” Ron sneered. “Nowhere.”   
  
“Actually,” Draco shot back, “I’m obviously  _somewhere_.”   
  
“And you’re not going  _anywhere_.”   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Are you done acting like a toddler, blood traitor?”   
  
Ron’s jaw ticked with anger. “Shut up, Malfoy.”   
  
“Let me out, and I won’t hurt you,” Draco said menacingly.   
  
Ron laughed at him. “You can’t hurt me from in there. Your wand and everything is on that table over there!” Ron said, as he pointed to a banged up table far down on the other side of the hall. “And unless you can do wandless magic, which I know for a fact that you can’t.”   
  
“Oh?”   
  
Ron ignored him. “You better be happy you didn’t kill Hermione, and there’s a wedding going on today, else I’d hang you until your toes were blue.”   
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Is that all you’ve got Weasley?”   
  
Ron’s ears went red. “No, it--”   
  
A man rushed into the hall. “She’s awake!” he called.   
  
Ron looked at the man and then at Draco. “We’re not finished.”   
  
“Oh, but we are,” Draco returned. “Go to your precious little Mudblood, will you? Give her my best.”   
  
Ron’s eyes narrowed, and he threw Draco a vulgar hand gesture. Draco laughed, and sagged against the wall as Ron almost ran down the hallway. _Stupid muggle-lover,_  Draco thought.   
  
The man who had just run down the hallway to tell Ron ‘she’ was awake, came and sat in front of his cell. He was an ugly bald man, an extra, no doubt.   
  
“No dog bones to throw me?” Draco asked sarcastically. He could pick a lock with one of those.   
  
The man grunted menacingly.   
  
“I thought not.” After a moment’s silence, Draco tried again. “Thirty gold pieces if you let me out. "  
  
The man grunted again.   
  
“Just let me out, and I’ll stop aggravating you.”   
  
The man narrowed his eyes, and his voice came out guttural and bear-like. “Shut up, or I kill you.”   
  
Draco narrowed his own eyes, and  opened his mouth to say something when the man grunted again. "I serious. I feed you to piggies when I done cutting you up."  
  
Then, Draco decided that he better not say anything.   
  
So he glared at the man, and then went over to the cot on the side of the room. He was dirty, and filthy, and…. He pulled his shirt off anyway, and put it on the cot. His head was pounding with pain, the bruise hurt the most. He stretched on the bed, and closed his eyes, his mind plotting.   
  
It was preposterous, a Malfoy in jail, and he wasn’t even helping the Dark Lord, damn it!   
  
He dozed off, head heavy, for a few hours, and woke up to a delicious aroma traveling through the cells. It smelled like…..food. His stomach grumbled.   
  
He looked at the jailer in front of him, who seemed not to have moved. He was still being glared at. “Really?” Draco asked the man, knowing that making him angry wouldn’t help at all. He was acting on that stupid Weasley’s orders, and would do nothing.   
  
He tugged his shirt back on and was moving up the buttons when he felt something. His fingers froze. The man looked at him suspiciously. Draco shrugged and kept buttoning his shirt. He was being very casual, for just figuring his way out. It would take some cunning, and some great acting, but he could do it. And fate, it seemed, loved Slytherins, and everything just clicked into place.   
  
Seamus was strolling down the corridor. “Come on, Francis, we’re going to eat.”   
  
 _Francis?_  Draco looked around. There were no girls here. Then, he saw his jailer moving away from his cell.  _Francis?_  Draco suppressed a snigger, and struggled to keep from smirking. Well, that was a pleasant surprise.   
  
“But Mis’ser Weasley says I need ta stay ‘ere. Said this ‘un wazza snake, this ‘un.”   
  
Seamus rolled his eyes. “Ron is often a little dramatic. Let’s go eat. Malfoy isn’t going anywhere,” he said pointedly with his Irish accent. Seamus narrowed his eyes at Draco. “Stupid Slytherin.”   
  
Draco arched a brow, and refused to say anything. He could be his nasty self later.   
  
Seamus rolled his eyes and walked off with the bald man to go and eat. Draco waited three minutes after they left, and took off his shirt and pants. He stayed in his trousers, and with a grimace tried to clean himself up a bit. If he was going to do what he was planning, he’d need to look clean, and gentleman like. After cleaning up, he shoved the shirt and pants under   
  
And it was going to work. Well, he hoped they’d miss a few things in their panic, but who knew? Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn’t. There was only enough in the vile for a few minutes. Five, tops.   
  
He pulled out the vile hidden in the seam of his shirt and held it with one hand as his other went to the bar of the jail. No one else was in this dungeon, he knew. He would have heard it already. Then he did something a Malfoy never would have done, which was why everything was going to work splendidly. He started jerking on the bars, the sound of grinding metal echoing on the stone cold walls. “ _HELP!”_  he shouted at the top of his lungs. _"HELP ME!”_    
  


* * *

  
  
Ron grabbed some cheese and put in on a piece of bread, as Seamus and Ed came up the stairs. Dean came over, “I thought you were watching Malfoy,” he said in his aristocratic accent. “He’s top priority, you know that.”   
  
Seamus shrugged. “He’s not going anywhere.”   
  
Ed rolled his eyes. “If ‘nythin’ ‘appens to the boy, es na’ ma’ fault.”   
  
Ron nodded slowly, and let Ed go. Then he turned on Seamus. “He’s a snake, he’s going to get away,” his eyes were glinting angrily.   
  
“Chill, he’s between bars.”   
  
Ron’s stance relaxed slightly. “You’re right, we’ve got the bloody snake, and he’s not going to get away.”   
  
They ate, listening to ale glasses being hit against each other, laughing, talking, chattering….   
  
“What’s that?” Ron asked, cocking his head to the side. It was something he hadn‘t heard in a while. Something… terrible about it. It was a faint sound. He stood up abruptly. “Do you hear that?” He asked Seamus.   
  
Seamus looked at Ron like he was mad. Dean shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re--”   
  
Ron ‘shushed’ him, and started walking around the room, trying to find where it was loudest. It was very, very quiet, but obviously loud, where it was coming from. Then, it hit him. He moved into a small hallway, Dean and Seamus hot on his heels. He almost started running.   
  
Below them were the dungeons. There was only one person in the dungeons. And something was wrong. He threw the door open to the dungeons and the yelling intensified at least tenfold. Ron hurtled down the stairs and into the dungeon hall, where it was still dimly lit. “Malfoy!” He yelled, stalking down the hall.   
  
“HELP!”   
  
 _That’s not Malfoy’s voice_. Ron realized this with shocking clarity. He hurried faster down the eternal hall to the end cell, when another thing hit him.  _Malfoy’s too bloody proud to scream for help._  
He whirled on the last cell, and his breath whooshed out of his lungs. “Who are _you?”_    
  
The brown haired, blue eyed, scantily dressed man in the cell was obviously a gentleman: his skin was clean, as if he didn't belong there. He _didn't_   belong there. “Dommanic Aymes Lafroy,” the man answered, voice hoarse from yelling, “at your service.”   
  
“Harry talked about you.”   
  
After Dommanic said nothing, Ron’s brows furrowed. “How did you end up here?” Ron asked, fire shooting from his eyes. He could not  _believe_ this! “Where’s Malfoy?”   
  
“You mean the slimy blonde-haired g-”   
  
“That’s the one,” Ron answered, shaking with fury. “ _Where. Is. he_?”   
  
“I was asleep,” the man said, “or at least…. I thought I was, they must have drugged me… “ he talked as if really remembering, and Ron stopped doubting him. A man wouldn‘t be yelling and dressed only in his trousers if he was guilty. “And then, I gained consciousness when they tossed me in here.” He turned to the side to show them an ugly shoe print on his side that was red. “The slimy blonde one sneered at me, and kicked me in the side," He showed a print of a shoe on his side, confirming his own story. "'Said I didn’t belong here. He doesn’t go to Hogwarts does he?”   
  
Ron looked into the sincere blue eyes. They were sincere as they could get. He turned to Seamus and Dean. “We have to find Malfoy,  _now_.”   
  
“Who’s Malfoy?” Dommanic asked.   
  
“A  _filthy_ excuse for a wizard,” Ron said angrily, and pulled out his key ring and jerked Dommanic’s door open. He pointed to a little banged up table down the hall.  _Malfoy took his stuff anyway…_  “There’s a change of clothes in the second drawer. They might be your size. "  
  
“Oh, thank you,” Dommanic answered.   
  
Ron gave him a curt nod, “You know your way out?”   
  
“Down the hall and up the stairs.”   
  
“That’s it. It was nice meeting you, Dom, and we’d wait for you, but--”   
  
Dommanic smiled oddly. “I know, I know, Go catch your criminal.”   
  
Ron didn’t spare him another glace and grabbed Seamus. “Let’s go!”   
  
Draco waited until they were out of the hallway, and he heard the door swing shut. He crept out of the cell, and pocketed the empty vile. He had taken it just as they burst into the hall. It would give him two minutes, max, and it had, and they saved him. He stalked down the hall, sweat glistening on his chest; he grabbed his wand off the top of the chest: they hadn’t even bothered to look at it, as he had predicted. It had all went as planned.   
  
He pulled on the extra clothes, which seemed to be about his side, although the pants were too short. He had to go and find some clothes of his own, and some expensive feeling ones too. He was getting tired of these coarse fabrics.   
  
But he had no time to waste. He pulled open another drawer and found a cloak. He pulled it on and over his head. It was a monk’s cloak, he noted with irony. A Malfoy, a monk.   
  
He smirked under the cloak, and pulled out a book from the first drawer. It was enough. He walked up the stairs, and out into the world; his stomach growled.   
  
But first things first: Killing and stalking could come later. Right now, he was  _hungry_. He grabbed a chicken leg and took out a generous bite, a bit of grease let on the corner of his lip. He brushed it away with a long finger.   
  
After he ate, he would be ready. Ready for anything, and everything. He walked by Ron, Dean, and Seamus, who nodded at him as he walked by, head bowed low.   
  
No one could see the devil’s expression in his glittering grey eyes. He smirked as he went on. A Malfoy in monk’s clothing.   
  
It was classic, that was for sure.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
“We have a problem.” Ron had said.   
  
 _What an understatement,_  Harry thought dryly. “What is it?”   
  
And when Ron answered, he should have known, he really could have guessed. Since everything that could have possibly went wrong could go wrong, it really had come down to one fact.   
  
Ron grimaced as he said one word. “Malfoy.”   
  
“How did he get out of the dungeon?”   
  
“So, how’d he get out?” Harry repeated, when Ron looked blankly at him. He watched his friends ears turn red.   
  
“I don’t know,” Ron answered, eyes darting to the floor. “I really have no idea how he got out. I just .... got a dispatch that he did.” There was no way that he was going to tell Harry it happened on 'his' watch.  
  
Harry put a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “He’s a snake,” he said. “He would have found his way out of there anyway.”   
  
“I guess so.“  _Slimy git._  “So what do we--?”   
  
“We do nothing,” Harry shrugged. “Looking for a single man here in the midst of a wedding would be suicide. Let him be. There’s not much that he can do. I‘m just happy he didn‘t kill Hermione.”   
  
“Me too,” Ron answered. He looked at his friend, “Well-”   
  
A knock on the door interrupted him. Ron rolled his eyes. “What  _now?_  What _else_  could possibly be important--” he jerked open the door, murder written all over his face. He glared at the wig. “What do you want?”   
  
The wig looked over Ron’s shoulder, and his eyes locked with the king’s. “It’s time.” he said.   
  
Harry wanted to laugh helplessly. _It’s just a game_ , he said to himself,  _Just a game._  
Or was it?   
  


* * *

  
  
Wedding.   
  
A small, insignificant seven letter word that ends most cliché stories/fairytales and is far too often mistakenly translated into: Happily ever after. Of course, anyone who’s been married knows that  _that_ simply is not true. It's not the end. It's a beginning. Some of you are lucky enough to find out that the adventure after the ceremony is happy and argument-void. You, my friend, are the exception. I’ll get you your certificate later.   
  
However, for some weird reason, most everyone, even little three year olds (who’ve been deviously brainwashed by the world famous makers of cartoon fairytales) associate wedding with happily ever after.   
  
…   
  
Sad, isn’t it.   
  
A wedding is simply an event signifying the signing off of your individuality to a partner who you trust and depend on, and are probably far too head over heels in love with to notice that his or her breath stinks just as much as yours in the morning. In fact, at weddings, the two soon to be spouses are so blinded by youthful ‘love’ that it might as well be a wedding between Gary Stue and Mary Sue.   
  
Well, that’s the normal wedding.   
  
Another type of sadly overused plot for a joining of two people is the arranged, or forced marriage between two people who absolutely loath each other, and then somehow through living together, they discover that they have hearts, things in common, a secret love for poodles, and oh, lets not forget that hate turned lust factor that causes them to fall into some conveniently placed king sized bed where they do the inevitable romp in the sheets and discover that they simply can’t live without each other.   
  
If by each other, we mean ‘mind blowing sex’.   
  
…..   
  
Then, ten minutes later after the unspeakable, they’ve turned into emotional muffins and seem to have lost semblance of the very core reasons of why they are who they are. It’s almost akin to watching a dragon act like a cuddly teddy bear. Not only does it make no sense, it would simply never happen!   
  
The dragon and cuddly teddy bear part, I mean.   
  
You  _know_ it’s true. Don’t deny it. As much as you enjoy reading it, something ticks off in your brain that it’s just….   
  
Well, I’ll let you think the incriminating words in your head by yourself. I don’t have to say it for you.   
  
However, at the wedding today, neither is the case. Today, we are presented with a rare type of wedding. Not one of convenience, but one of carefully constructed indifference. In case you don’t understand Greta lawyer type, it’s the kind of wedding where the two soon to be spouses are indifferent towards each other and madly in love with someone else that isn’t going to be in the lovely wedding portrait.   
  
The cliché catch? It’s a royal wedding. (But when is it never?)   
  
The fun fact is, is that in a royal wedding, no one dares speak out for fear of the nice little convenience concept I like to call ‘Pride of Life.’ Cho won’t say no, because in every girl, there is that childhood dream that shoves away all others: the dream to be a queen or princess. Either or: it’s the ultimate career choice at age three. And it never leaves the back of your mind. Harry won’t say no because it is his duty, as king to accept the majority rule. Neville won’t say a word because he doesn’t want his head cut off, and Ginny won’t make a peep (surprisingly) because she ‘understands’ Harry’s duty as king. Oh, and she doesn’t want to get her head cut off either.   
  
Instinct leads them to these decisions. Sure, it may be a game, but I imagine getting your head cut off in a game  _must_  be unpleasant.   
  
Fear, pride, and love always turns out to be a lethal combination.   
  
The last thing that they would expect is for someone to save the day! As the story would usually go, Harry and Cho would fall madly in love after one night in the bedchamber after the ceremony and realize that after all this time, they just couldn’t escape the past. Convenient, No? Then Ginny and Neville….   
  
Ok.  _Ew._    
  
Or, they just live as king and queen, pride assuaged and then find pleasure and love elsewhere…. I guess you could say adultery would be a common cliché theme to add to the wedding list as well. Cho could be some female dominatrix, and Harry simply didn’t have it in him to be into that kind of kinky stuff, and he runs to Ginny for a more ‘gentle’ type of love. Cho would get angry and murder Neville and then get sent to Azkaban, or an insane asylum somewhere far away where she could never hurt anyone. Anyway you play it, anyway you put the words and characters, somehow, by some freakish rule of fictional nature, it ends in Happily Ever After.   
  
The _last_  word that any of our dear little brainwashed three year old's minds connect with the word wedding is none other than the little eight letter word ‘disaster.’ After all, where would the happily ever after be?   
  
Unfortunately for you and luckily for me, I don’t specialize in happily ever afters. I find disaster intriguing, and exciting. It’s a surprise and puts people under special circumstances in which they show their true colors and feelings. Where as, in happily ever after, they bite their tongues and plaster smiles onto their faces and hope that no one notices that the expression fake.   
  
But for the lovely couples sakes, you better pray that nothing bad happens, because if it does, heads will go rolling, and it certainly won’t be mine!  
  
I hope you took your hangover potions and have your Sunday best on, all down to the silk covered buttons and stainless cotton gloves. You might want to put on some breeches under those dresses, ladies. You might have to run later. But from what, I can’t say. That would ruin everything wouldn’t it?   
  
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen (if that’s what you really are) to the joyful wedding of Harry Potter, and the wanna-be-queen Cho Chang.   
  
The ultimate Happily Ever After, no? The weather is perfect; skies blue, clouds a brilliant fluffy white. The birds are chirping, the flowers blooming, and everyone who isn’t hung-over from the masquerade last night is giddy for the fairy tale ending. Simply nothing can go wrong. By all rights, (according to the weather man), it’s a Happily Ever After for sure.   
  
But then again, I find it my duty to tell you: Nothing is ever what it seems.   
  
So please, take a seat to watch the perfect union. But please, leave me a aisle seat. I have a bad feeling that I’ll be ripping my heels off and running though the huge wooden doors of the catherdral very soon.   
  
I could be wrong.   
  
If I am, you can blame my screwy female intuition. 


	30. The Wedding

Hermione stole into one of the rooms in the hallway, and ran over to the closet. “Please have clothes, please have clothes,” she muttered under her breath, over and over again like a prayer. She clutched the bed sheets to her body, heat flushing her skin. Her hair was a mess, but that was only expected with her running about, dodging corners, and into the men’s chamber rooms not to get caught in the hallway naked as she was born with nothing but the bed sheets. She had come close, more than once already.   
  
She yanked open the closet door, and then almost banged it shut in anger. Her eyes narrowed at the men’s clothing put out on the expensive, cherry black stained wooden racks. No dresses. But then again…   
  
Hermione snatched a pair of expensive looking green breeches that were soft to the touch. She quickly folded the bed sheets and put them on the ground of the closet. Then she took a cotton undershirt, and then put a shirt, and after buttoning that, she grabbed a vest that matched the pants and put it on. She ruffled around for a cap, and found one shoved in the back of the closet. The feather on it was slightly bent, but it would have to do. She stalked over to the mirror, and looked at herself.   
  
 _Merlin, but I am a mess!_  She took her untamable hair and shoved it into the cap. She pulled the cap down onto her head, and shook her head around a bit. She almost sighed in relief when everything stayed in place.   
  
She took just a single moment, one she really couldn’t afford to give up, to observe herself in the mirror. Her cheeks had hollowed out. There were dark circles under her eyes from not being able to sleep. She looked tired, and weary. Her hazel eyes glittered with worn adrenaline. They sparkled almost to brightly. And if she looked hard enough, she could almost see the madness…   
  
Hermione jerked away from the mirror, and walked over to the door.   
  
It was time to end this. She was tired of it.   
  
She yanked the door opened and stalked down the hall.   
  
Nothing,  _nothing,_  would get in her way this time.   
  
The soft kid shoes she had placed on her feet that she had stolen from the closet felt good on her feet. She almost felt bad for stealing, but then she remembered it was only a game. And she didn’t exactly have time to write a thank you note.   
  
 _The hallways were empty, save for a few guards._  They’re all at the wedding, she realized, and her pace became quicker. She couldn’t afford to lose it all now. She started a light jog, holding a hand to her hat. No one was anywhere!   
  
She took a turn down another hallway, and then she saw him.   
  
She ran faster, “Harry, wait!”  
  
The dark hair figured turned around. He looked perplexed. “Do I know you?”   
  
Hermione got closer to him, and then saw the relief flood his face. “Hermione, what are you--”   
  
“I don’t have time to talk right now.”   
  
Harry promptly shut his mouth.   
  
“I need your signet.”   
  
“My what?” Harry asked.   
  
“I need your snitch,” Hermione clarified. “And I need it now.”   
  
Harry’s expression went pained. “I can’t give it to you.”   
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why not?”   
  
Harry sighed. “The wigs have it.” He ran a hand over his head. “It’s like an ‘engagement ring’ here. Giving my bride my signet would mean I was giving myself to her. And vice-versa.”   
  
Hermione ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes, defeat tainting her tongue. _The wigs have it._  The sentence kept repeating in her brain. She couldn’t believe that when she was this close _….No._  She thought _. I am going to get that blasted thing even if it_ kills _me!_  
This game would go on forever without her. She didn’t have time to go and un-charm the chest right now, and there was no way in bloody hell that she was going to let Malfoy win!   
  
“Where is it?” She asked, quickly, knowing Harry had to go. He was the king, after all.   
  
“It’s in a ruby colored pouch on the alter. I think we’re Catholic. I’m not quite sure.” Harry grinned ruefully.   
  
Hermione‘s lips twitched ever so slightly into the semblance of a mini-second smile. “So, what are you going to do? What does Ginny think about this?” Hermione asked, concern on her face. Her friends had it bad for each other. She just screwed it up a bit more.  _A lot more_ , a snide voice in her mind said. Hermione tried to ignore it; but she knew it was right. In fact, if she had applied herself, she probably could have predicted the next words that came out of Harry’s mouth.   
  
“She thinks that you’re a backstabbing whore--”   
  
“ _Ginny!”_  Harry’s eyes went wide as he looked over Hermione’s shoulder.   
  
Hermione turned to face an angry red head whose hands were on her hips. Ginny’s eyes narrowed angrily, glinting like steel. “Well, if she didn’t try to seduce my  _boyfriend--”_ she directed at Harry.   
  
Hermione sighed. “Ginny, I--”   
  
“I  _don’t_ want to hear it right now,” Ginny almost hissed, ears red. She was eavesdropping again, but it didn’t matter. She gave Harry one last seething look, and stalked down the hallway, light green dress swishing in choppy sways behind her. Harry sighed, and ran a hand over his face.   
  
“What was that all about?” Hermione asked, as soon as Ginny was out of earshot.   
  
“She’s making me choose.”   
  
Hermione arched a brow in question, crossing her arms.   
  
“Between my duty to marry Cho, and her.”   
  
“And you didn’t say you’d choose her?” Hermione gawked. She punched Harry in the arm.    
  
“OW!” Harry exclaimed. “What was that for?”   
  
“For being a thick-headed dolt!” Hermione retorted.   
  
“I don’t understand. What are you--”   
  
“There isn’t  _supposed_ to be a choice, Harry.” Hermione clarified.   
  
“But they’ll kill everyone if--”   
  
“But Hermione wasn’t listening. “And there won’t be one.”   
  
Harry stopped, when he realized what she had just professed. “Do you mean you--”   
  
“Yes,” Hermione answered to the slight hope in his eyes. “Yes, I do.”   
  
Hermione opened her mouth to say something else when a fully armed battalion of guards came down the hallway to ‘get the king.’   
  
Hermione stepped aside. “Good luck,” she whispered and grabbed his hand.   
  
He squeezed it. “You too.” Then he let it go, and without a backward glace, he walked down the hallway, surrounded by the royal guard.   
  
Hermione watched him go. “I’ll be needing that luck,” Hermione muttered under her breath. She waited until he was out of sight to kick into action. She was going to need all the help that she could get.   
  
To bad all of her man power was scattered, behinds in the wooden pews of a church.   
  
She whipped out her wand. “ _Accio_  box,” she whispered, and a moment later, a little black box whizzed into her hand. She stuck it in the pocket of her breeches.   
  
Ship in a box.   
  
How convenient.   
  
She leaned against the wall for a moment, and closed her eyes. The next hour was key. She had to do it alone. There was no one--   
  
Then it hit her. A cold feeling of dread flooded her body; but she knew what she had to do. Suddenly, it was all crystal clear. She didn’t want to do it; it would be admitting defeat. But she  _had_ to do it.   
  
She was a Gryffindor. She could do it. She  _had_  to do it to escape this prison of a game.   
  
It was changing her, and she didn’t like it.   
  
With purpose, she leaned up from the wall, and strode down the cold, empty hallway.   
  
It was time to end this.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
_~Earlier in the wee hours of the morning:_  ~  
  
  
Susan looked at the seven masked faces in the room. It was almost five in the morning; everyone was tired, but she had given them notes throughout the ball, telling them to come here. She omitted some of the group, simply because she didn’t trust them.   
  
She felt the anticipation crackling in the room. On one side sat Thaddius, on the other, stood Blaise. They were both regarding her, as she stood there, hands on her hips. She looked down at Silvester, Blaise, Thaddius, and some of the ex-lioness crew. She was simply happy that all of them had shown up. IT was important to her, to Hermione, to the game.   
  
She handed them each a piece of shiny gold. “You know what to do. Everything I said in the past hour… We can’t mess up. Do it right the first time. We don’t have time to take chances.”   
  
The people in the room looked down at the gold coins: they all knew what they were. It seemed like Susan Bones wasn’t as daft as most people had thought she was throughout the time. Of course, she was under Hermione’s guidance at the moment, and perhaps that was what was going on, but no one really cared at that moment.   
  
“Don’t forget what you’ve been assigned. It’s vital if we want to get out of this game.”   
  
No one spoke, all the questions had been taken care of a few minutes before. Everything was clear. The matches were set, the bets were made, and the time was coming soon. They filed quietly out of the doors, carefully not to make any noise.   
  
Thaddius and Blaise were the last to leave, both of them stopping at the door. Susan watched them for a moment, her muscles tensing with the fierce atmosphere in the room. She tried to speak, but she knew her voice would be muffled by the amount of testosterone in the air. She tucked her own gold going into her breast pocket, and watched as they both walked through the door at the same time, careful not to touch shoulders.   
  
She was just about to walk out the door, when Thaddius’s face turned just slightly, and he caught her eye; his lips curled deliciously. She repressed a grin, and shut the door behind her. She heard him chuckle lightly, and then they were both gone. She sagged against the door.   
  
She could only hope that everything went right.   
  
It  _had_  to.   
  
Because if it didn’t… she was afraid this game would never end.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
The cathedral was decorated like it had never been decorated before. The floors were covered in rose petals, roses were everywhere. The room smelled of the flowery aroma, permeating everyone’s clothing. The guests sat in the pews, the last arrivals entering the room. Laughter floated through the air, the timbre of many voices weaving through the room.   
  
A large wrought iron chandelier was hanging from the ceiling, its hundreds of candles twinkling and flickering like stars. It was surely a sight to behold: after all, the wedding of a king wasn’t something as trifle as baking a cake. There had to be proper lighting!   
  
Everyone who was anyone was there. They were all dressed in their Sunday best. Well, what they  _thought_  was their Sunday best. Susan looked over at the woman sitting another pew and almost gagged. The woman in question looked like someone had vomited pink and green lace all over the ridiculously huge dress. Didn’t she know the king was taken already?   
  
She shuddered slightly. She sat in the pew, alone. She knew exactly where Thaddius was standing, half hidden in the shadows. How could she not, when he hadn’t taken his glittering gaze off of her for the past ten minutes. She shifted in her seat, the prickling heat rushing through her body. _Stop looking at me!_ she tried to tell him telepathically, without meeting his gaze. A rush of heat flooded her body.   
  
But she didn’t want him to stop looking at her. She shut her eyes, and took a really deep breath, trying to tie up her fraying nerves. To no avail. It seemed that they were racing to the finish line- a finishing line that seemed to get further away every time they got closer. If she wasn’t careful, she would burn out.   
  
She turned her head the slightest fraction of an inch, and his gaze caught hers. She averted of her gaze again, her cheeks flushing. She was almost not used to this kind of attention. She felt her Hufflepuff shyness seeping through, and tried to push it away. In this extreme reality, she was who she wanted to be; she was who she never had a chance to be at Hogwarts. With this thought, she sat up a little higher, and squared her shoulders.  
  
Everything would go right today. The bets were made, the matches were set, and the time was up. Everything got sent into motion now. She fixated her gaze onto the alter before her; she had to succeed in this. Nothing else mattered. She could do this to be accepted in the general Hogwarts society. Maybe…. Maybe…   
  
She took in another deep breath, and almost felt normal, when a laugh pierced through the air. It zapped towards her from the back of the room, sound waves determined to ricochet in her own head. In an instant, she knew that Thaddius wasn’t looking her. She knew who he was looking at. She turned her head, then her face went white with what she saw.   
  
Pansy had walked into the room, with Blaise on her arm. Her green eyes glittered with a smug victory, her expression condescending as she looked over the crowd. Her pink silk dress made her skin look almost delectable. It was a shame that she wasn’t considered an ethereal beauty. Susan’s eyes traveled to Blaise: he looked magnificent in his clothes. The light blue played with the ebony of his skin: the stark white of his collar a sharp contrast. She felt her throat going dry as his eyes scanned the crowd. His expression was…   
  
 _Baffled?_  Susan’s brows furrowed. That made no sense. If anything, he should have been as smug as Pansy, after all, he was trying to hurt her, wasn’t he? Susan turned around and try to find the reasoning behind the expression. Something was off, something wasn’t right.   
  
It started nagging her; and just as that happened, the prickling on her neck started again. She tried to ignore it; she knew she would have to deal with him soon. It almost felt like his blood was calling to hers.   
  
She pushed that thought away. She couldn’t think about that now. She really couldn’t; she had to ignore how much she wanted to.   
  
She forced the fact that Blaise and Pansy were here together to the back of her mind: they didn’t matter right now. They weren’t part of the plan. In fact, she left Blaise in the dark the last meeting.   
  
She had left it up to Thaddius.   
  
She folded her hands, an almost subconscious movement- she prayed that he’d do his job, regardless of his affections. She was just about to look over at him, when a hush swept over the room: men with trumpets walked in, announcing the king’s entrance. They were in the baroque times, somewhere between 1500-1700, Susan decided, because the music implied such.   
  
People craned their necks and heads to get a look at their king. Hushed whispers could be heard amongst other things: a fart, a burp, and the reoccurring sighs from young maidens who wished the king would commit pre-marital…. Adultery with them right then and there.   
  
Not that there is such a thing, mind you.   
  
Harry tried to ignore the multitude of eyes on his person, and found it difficult.  _You think I’d be used to it by now,_  Harry thought sardonically, as he kept his eyes fixed on the altar. H e shuddered, not knowing what he was going to do next. What choice he was going to have to make.   
  
 _You won’t have to._  Hermione’s words kept echoing through his head. Harry tried not to cling to it, but it was the only hope he had. He held firm to it, and for the first time, Harry was without a backup plan, without luck. All he had was Hermione to help him, and she always pulled through.   
  
Hopefully this time wouldn’t be any different.   
  
 _Bloody hell,_  Harry thought,  _Marriage sucks. Remind me never to get married. EVER._  He made a mental note as his feet dragged him down the aisle, his face set.   
  
It seemed like a mile, but it only took less than twenty seconds to span the distance. Before he knew it, his feet were making their way up the stairs, to the hooded monk who had his head bowed reverently, hands holding the sacred script to the marriage rituals.   
  
Harry took in a deep breath and tried to ignore the papers.  _It’s just a game_ , he repeated in his mind over and over. It’s just a game. The only thing that was truly comforting at the moment was Ron walking behind him; even though they had been having their rough times in the game… It was just something that was real. Neville had followed Ron to the alter, and he was succeeded by Sean.   
  
Then a hush fell over the cathedral Harry’s very last footstep could be heard. He shot a look at Neville who looked down at his shoes.   
  
The silence was deafening for a few moments; time stopped. Harry could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Everyone’s eyes were rapt on him.   
  
Suddenly, the ornately-to-the-point-of-ridiculousness (they really looked like overstuffed colorful penguins) trumpeters burst into a fan fare to announce the entrance of the bride.   
  
Ever so slowly, the doors opened to let in the rays of sunlight, casting Cho’s form into a silhouette, casting her as an angel. A collective sigh could be heard throughout the audience, her beauty absolutely radiating in the halo the sun created around her.   
  
She smiled up at Harry as she made her way down the isle- her eyes not quite as happy as her smile. Row by row stood up, as she passed them by, not even nodding their way.   
  
Harry looked above her head to see a slight figure slip through the door, and into the shadows. He caught a flash of green. Harry almost grinned. _Hermione._  She was clever, he knew. Entering while everyone was looking at the bride was brilliant on her part.  _But at the same time we’ve been sneaking out for years,_  he conceded.   
  
For once, it almost felt good to know that someone else was going to take care of everything. Too bad he didn’t know that when one puts the future in someone else’s hands, it might not play out the way they want it to.   
  
Cho came up and stood by him, and the fan fare ended. Harry almost thanked Merlin under his breath for the end of the horrendous racket, but Cho shot him a look just as he opened his mouth to utter it. They turned to face the monk, who was holding out his long fingered hands out to them in greeting. Between the couple and the monk stood a small table, where Cho’s engraved hair stick that was an heirloom from her great-grandmother, and Harry’s snitch lay on a scarlett cushion, glittering for the world to see. The monk paid them no head- his eyes seemed glued to the pages of the book his hands were gripping.   
  
“You may all be seated,” the hooded monk said.   
  
The entire audience made a move to get comfortable. Harry looked over at the monk for the first time. For a moment, he felt an odd familiarity towards the monk. “Do I know you?” Harry asked, curiously, trying to see beneath the hood, but the man bowed his head even further, in reverence to his king.   
  
“All monks look the same,” the hooded monk answered, “It‘s the robes.”   
  
Harry’s lip quirked.  _A monk with a sense of humor._  But before he could make a comment, the monk held up a slender hand to silence the little bit of chatter that remained. He waited a moment for Harry’s consent, and when Harry nodded, only then did he begin his speech.   
  
“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together here today…”   
  
Harry peeked over at Cho, who was starting at some point above the monks head. He tried not to sigh- but then he saw something move in the shadows. His eyes immediately narrowed- someone was creeping in the wing of the cathedral.   
  
Harry’s mind went whirring. He wasn’t going to be an auror for nothing in the real world. He made a move to speak, but then realized where he was.   
  
 _I hate, I hate, I HATE weddings_ , Harry thought in his mind.   
  
“Into this holy estate these two persons…”   
  
Harry tried to shift his attention away from whatever was going on in the shadows and focused on the monk, who had come to the most dramatic part of the speech. Had Harry not been paying attention, he would have missed it completely.   
  
“If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together – let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”   
  
Then one voice spoke out into the crowd, loud and clear as crystal.   
  
“I object.”   
  
Harry whirled around, his arm almost knocking into Cho’s form. His eyes locked with the last pair of eyes he expected to see.   
  
Pansy smirked smugly at him, arms crossed. “He’s in love with _me_.”   
  
Harry nearly choked.   
  
Just as he was about to speak, Ginny, who had been sitting in the front row, stood up, her ears a ferocious red. “You’re  _psychotic,_  Parkinson,” she screeched, turning to Pansy’s direction. “He’s in love with  _me_.”   
  
The murmurings grew louder, suspicious. People started milling around in their seats.   
  
Pansy raised a brow. “Oh really, Weasley, then how do you explain _this_?” Pansy lifted her hair to show a hickey on her neck. “He was with me all last night.”   
  
Ginny turned on Harry. She stomped up on the altar, shoving Cho aside. “Is this true?” She demanded, poking him in the chest. “Are you… are you… with _that_ …. Parkinson?”   
Harry shook his head vehemently; he was surprised his neck didn’t snap. “I haven’t done _anything_  with Parkinson.”   
  
Pansy’s laugh echoed through the room, floating over the ever louder conversations of the extra’s trying to deduce what was going on. “You think--”   
  
“I think you should shut up!” Cho Chang said loudly. A hush fell over the room. “This is  _my_  wedding, Parkinson, and you’re not going to ruin it for me.”   
  
A loud snort was heard from the left side of the room. Cho turned and saw Susan Bones grinning in the third pew. “What so funny, Bones? Care to share?”   
  
“This is a  _game,_  Cho. Aren’t you being a little melodramatic?”   
  
Cho narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t about you-”   
  
“That’s right,” Pansy drawled. “It’s about me. And the chain of chandelier that’s about to fall on everyone if you don’t get out of here now. He loves me, end of story. Now shoo,” she said.   
  
For a moment, no one believed her- until suddenly an earsplitting crack shot through the room. Every single eye In the room looked up as they watched the main chandelier jerk towards the ground. Then someone emitted a loud scream- others followed suit.   
  
It was like a stampede was running out of one pair of doors, albeit large ones. Susan ran over to the wall, and held one of the ropes as she saw a flash of green disappear into the crowd.  _Oh, please, Merlin, let it work!_    
  
Harry dove and grabbed Cho's arm. With his other hand, he ripped the button off that held her train, and swept her down the stairs. "Take her," Harry yelled to Ron over the racket.   
  
"Sure thing," Ron nodded, and grabbed Cho by the arm. His face was puzzled and shocked, but he'd deal with that later. Just as he was reaching out to grab her, Neville pushed him out of the way, and picked Cho up bridal style. With a look that almost knocked Ron dead, Neville disappeared through a doorway.   
  
Ron, at loss of what to do, decided to get into the crowd and out of the place. There was no one else here to take care of. His red pony-tail dove into the crowd.   
  
Harry ran over to the front pew, where Ginny was lying on the ground- her ankle at a completely wrong angle. The screams faded away for a moment, as Harry saw a single tear run down her cheek. He leaned down and gathered her up into his arms, trying to remain passive as she whimpered in pain. "It's going to be OK," He said fiercly. He looked for the exit that had the least people and moved briskly towards it, but someone flew right into them, almost knocking Harry off of his feet. Ginny cried out.  
  
Harry looked down at the person who had tumbled to the floor. His eyes went wide- "Herm-"  
  
"You're welcome," She interjected, not even looking at Harry, but past him. Then she disappeared, brushing right past his shoulder and into the throng of screaming people. Her hat had come off, her hair sticking up at crazy angles, some of it even plastered to her forehead.   
  
That had happened in less than a minute.   
  
Hermione dove through the openings in the crowd- like a fish. She looked up: the monk was frozen in place, a faint glitter in the shadows was telling her that he was alive. Is he in shock? She wondered briefly- then she almost got elbowed in the face, and she stopped thinking.   
  
She had but a single mission to complete. She moved determinedly forward, twisting her body in ways that were almost unnatural to get to the steps of the altar.   
  
Still, the monk didn’t move.   
  
She ran up to the platform with the snitch on it as another earsplitting crack followed this time by a huge groan flew through the air.   
  
“You need to get out of here!” Hermione said to the monk, her hair plastered to her forehead; she must have looked comical. But for some reason, he didn't seem like he was listening. The monk simply stood in silence.   
  
Hermione tried to catch his face, see it in the shadow, but she couldn’t. Her hand shot out to grab the snitch, her fingers curled around it, holding it in her grasp… and then suddenly, a cold, viselike grip caught her wrist.   
  
“Let go of me!” Hermione said, trying to pull herself away. She couldn’t afford to waste time right now.  _He_  could be anywhere!!!   
  
The monk laughed, a chilling, yet far too familiar laugh; Hermione’s blood froze in her veins. “Oh,  _no_.”   
  
The monk’s free hand reached up and jerked back the hood in one ferocious moment.   
  
“Stealing, Granger?" He asked, lips curled in an amused sneer, eyes an ice cold grey. "Tsk, tsk. Whatever shall we do with you now?”   
  
Hermione gulped- her throat suddenly dry. “Let me go, this has  _nothing_ to do with you.”   
  
Draco’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Oh, but it was  _everything_  to do with me.” He looked down at the snitch wing trying to flutter in a gap between Hermione’s fingers which were closed in a death grip. Draco looked at the wing as it continued its futile mission, eyes puzzled. “Now why would you need  _that_?”   
  
Draco’s eyes shot to Hermione’s for a moment. Hermione looked him in the eyes, eyes softening ever so slightly…. Then she kneed him with all the strength she had.   
  
Draco’s eyes went wide as he fell down to his knees, his hand loosing his grip on her wrist. Hermione looked down at him, her eyes shooting sparks. She squatted down, so she could be on his level, and pocketed the snitch. She looked him dead in the eye, holding his steely, furious gaze locked with hers as she whispered three words to him. “Catch me," she dared him. And then, for a moment, as if she ever doubted he could, she cocked her head, her honey eyes piercing right through him with hardcore determination. "If you can.”   
  
She stood up hastily, and with one wary and angry look his way, she ran into the crowd- the chandelier finally gave a final snap and plummeted to the floor, right where Hermione had been moments before.   
  
Draco watched her silhouette disappear into the blinding sun that was filtering through the open door. The anger inside him reached fever pitch as he etched her face into his eyelids. “Oh, don’t worry, Mudblood. I will. And when I do….”   
  
Draco pulled himself up, using the podium, and bent over slightly, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. He closed his eyes. The pain was excruciating. He hung his head and took in another deep breath. Slowly, but surely, he felt the pain leave. His eyes snapped open, as he stared at the open doorway.   
  
Then he broke out into a run, one single thought in his mind before he busted through the doors and after Hermione. _It’s time to end this, right now._  
  
He caught sight of her bushy hair and sped up, knowing he could catch up to her easily. He was less than ten paces away when something caught his ankle- before he knew it, he was flying in the air, and the world fell around him. His body hit the ground with a resounding THUD. He tried moving for a second,. But his limbs didn’t want to function. He was aware of people running, of the sound of horse heels and a carriage coming closer and closer..   
  
Then, the world went black. 


	31. Teasing Teasers and Tossers

 

Draco was going to die.  
  
This was something he knew with inevitable certainty. He heard the wheels coming closer and closer, he could feel the ground trembling around him, people screaming, when suddenly, something jerked him by the collar.   
  
Draco’s eyes were jerked from the ground, and he winced as the blinding sunlight filled his vision. He raised a hand to shield their grey depths from the sharp rays- the wheels cluttered right past his ear, the wooden splinters catching the hair on his head.   
  
“You alright?” A man asked from above him.   
  
It took Draco a moment to decipher the words from between the pounding of his heart in his ears. He stood up slowly, hood falling back to show his face.  
  
He looked to see that last person he expected to see. “Weasley?”  
  
Ron’s eyes suddenly went wide.  _“Malfoy!”_  for a second, neither moved, and then, Ron lunged.  
  
“I thought I was helping a  _monk_ ,” Ron growled as he punched for Draco’s jaw.  
  
Draco dodged the blow, and with a quick undercut, caught Ron below the sternum, where his sets of ribs met, and effectively knocked the wind right out of him. Draco looked down at Ron, who was wheezing on the ground, clutching his middle. His lip curled into a smirk, grey eyes cold. “Guess you were wrong.”   
  
“Go to hell,” Ron hissed through clenched teeth, ears bright red.  
  
Draco refused the urge kick him in the side, and narrowed his eyes. He squatted down, eye level with Ron. “Watch your mouth, Weasel-bee.”  
  
Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Draco wasn’t going to have it. His fist collided with the red-head’s jaw before the words could escape. “Later, Weasley.” Draco said, as he straightened his body. He looked at the lying form on the ground, and then, just like that, he dismissed him. His eyes flew to the street, scanning critically for a pair of extremely fetching green breeches.  
  
Then, without another glance at Ron, he took off down the street. His crew already knew what to do.  
  
After all, Draco wouldn’t be a Malfoy if he didn’t hatch his evil plans and then stay at least one step ahead of the game.   
  
He was right on time. Hermione, however, he had to concede, had moved far,  _far_  too early.   
  
That was one thing he hadn’t counted on.  
  
And what the  _hell_  was that about Pansy?  
  
He narrowed his face as he lengthened his stride. He would have answers, and by Merlin, he would break them out of her, out of  _both_  of them, if he needed to. He had to show them who was boss here.  
  
They never should have forgotten.   
  


___________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  
  
Hermione threw her cap to the ground as she pulled the box out of her pocket as the boards of the pier rattled under her feet. There was a crowd already beside an empty space- relief ripped through Hermione’s veins. She glanced to her side where she saw a tiny row boat occupying a space big enough for a ship, but then ignored it. She didn’t know why she had noticed it. She skidded to a stop in front of Susan, and put the box in her hands. The crew cheered, all except for Blaise.  
  
Susan threw the box into the rippling ocean waves, and with a dramatic motion, she thrust her wand in a series of twists and shouted an incantation.  
  
For a breathtaking moment, nothing happened. They held their breath, looking at the never changing waves. And then, all of the sudden a shaft of wood came up from the water, followed by the crow’s nest, a sail….  
  
The entire ship rose from out of the water, towering over them all, casting a shadow. Hermione was almost awestruck.  _Almost._  
  
”Get on this ship everyone,  _now,_ ” Hermione shouted. A chorus of “Yes, Captain Hell,” and “Woot!” followed as they brushed past her. She had to make sure everyone got on.   
  
Blaise came to stand by her side. “I can’t come with you,” he said, voice steady.  
  
Hermione turned her head to him, a curl flying into her face, catching on her eyelash. “What?” She said, confused. Had her ears deceived her.  
  
“I can’t come with you,” He repeated, refusing to meet her eyes.   
  
A moment of silence passed.   
  
“Look at me, and tell me  _why,_ ” Hermione said slowly, although she had a dark inkling that she knew. It crept slowly through her veins, chilling her blood. She knew, but oh, how she wished she didn’t.   
  
“I…”  
  
Hermione’s heart froze. “You did it, didn’t you.”  
  
It wasn’t a question. “I had to tell him, Hermione.”  
  
Hermione refused to swallow hard, although she wanted to. Any wet in her mouth turned to sawdust. “Why?”  
  
“I can’t live without his trust.” He reached up to brush the curl that was stuck almost in her eye, but she turned her face away- the curl, as independent as its owner, sprung from the lash, freeing itself.   
  
Hermione shoved her anguish in a drawer where she would deal with it later. All she felt was cold. Cutting, killing, cold. Her hands reached up and touched his chest, her face mere inches from his. She could read every emotion in his eyes- it was all splayed out for her. A pretty feast. She gauged them, but it was with an indifferent, calculating cold. Suddenly, she felt the boards under her feet start to tremble. Her eyes looked over Blaise's shoulder to the end of the pier and saw  _him_  running toward her. Then, what happened next happened quickly.   
  
She cut her freezing golden gaze at Blaise, “Well, apparently, you can live without mine.”  
  
With a hard push, she shoved him to the planks as the board connecting her ship to the pier fell into the water. She grabbed a rope latter on the side of the  _Lioness,_  and clung to it with one hand, leaning off the side, her hair whipping in the wind that was picking up quickly.   
  
She reached into her belt and pulled out her pistol, pointing it at Draco, who was now standing stoically beside the fallen Blaise.  
  
She was almost too far to see the rage those grey eyes- a cold furious rage that seeped through her bones. Her fingers stiffened on the rope as her pistol, unwavering , aimed at him.  
  
But he knew she wasn’t going to shoot. And for some reason, Hermione couldn’t pull the trigger. Suddenly a large wave boosted the ship up, and the wind caught the unraveling sails, instantly speeding up the ship. With one last glare at Draco, she shoved the pistol into her waist band and hauled her body up the side of the ship, one rope rung at a time.   
  
Thaddius leaned over and have her hand, pulling her over the side.   
  
“Thanks,” Hermione said.  
  
He winked at her. “No Problem, Captain Hell.”  
  
Hermione looked up at the wheel, seeing Susan masterfully wielding the ships mechanics in her hands. Hermione walked up to the brig, and took out a spyglass from a wooden chest by the wheel. She pulled out the golden layers and brought it to her eye, focusing the magnifying glass on the pier.   
  
He was no longer looking at her, but gesturing wildly at the little rowboat that she had passed on her way.  _No way._  
  
Draco pulled out his wand as his crew gathered around him, and with an explosion of white light, the tiny boat transformed into the magnificent ship that was the  _Shadow._  
  
Hermione’s jaw dropped open.  _No way in hell._  She could practically hear the roar of triumph that his crew yelled. His eyes didn’t move.   
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed onto his face; it was cold and furious. And ready to kill.  
  
She dropped the cutlass and turned to the crew. “Throw everything overboard. NOW. And get all the canons ready to shoot.” She turned her head back to the shrinking docks. “We’ve got company.”  
  
The crew flew into action, and Thaddius came up beside her and grabbed her hand. “You’re gonna win this thing, I know it.”   
  
Hermione couldn’t even bring up the courage to smile. It was now or never. “Cross your fingers, and-”   
  
“Yeah, let’s NOT hope to die right about now,” Thaddius interjected with an arched brow. He let go of her hand and ran down to help some of the other crew toss chests overboard.  
  
Hermione watched the chests float away. With a last though, she pulled out her wand and began to vanish them, one by one. She couldn't let Malfoy know what she was doing- she had to have  _some_  kind of advantage. He had surprised her too many times in the past three hours.   
  
She had come too far to win. Her heart almost ached for home. She was tired of playing. And she knew he was as well.   
  
There were two of them, but only one treasure.   
  
 _May the best pirate win._


	32. The End: A Prologue

The. End.  
  
Two little inconsequential words, but when put together, something finite- unquestionable. Some try to prolong it by writing an epilogue, but I think that's a waste of time. Why put the epilogue at all? To make the readers feel better? Possibly. Will this story have an epilogue?  
  
…......Absolutely not. I will not write one for you. It's not that I don't want to appease you, because believe me, *sultry wink, that's what I live to do. It's just that..... I don't believe in Happily Ever Afters. I don't believe in the heroine winning all, just because she's the main character. I don't believe that there is anything sublimely good in Draco, though I do believe he is delicious.  
  
I just want you to know that I will try my hardest not to play into my beliefs, because I know what you want. I may or may not give it to you. I'm a literary tease; bite me.  
  
The end.  
  
You will taste the end of The Game tonight, my friend. I'm going to make you sit in your seat and ignore your bladder. I'm going to make you procrastinate your homework, and have no mistake- I will make your heart race...... just a little bit. I might even make you hate me while I'm at it.  
  
Love me, hate me, I don't care.  
  
As long as you feel for me.  
  
Welcome, to the end of Pirates.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
   
  
Dark, grey storm clouds rushed in- pushing, squeezing, and bullying every bit of sunlight out of the sky. They brewed angrily over the ocean, threatening to lose their tempers without a moment's notice. It was as if they were waiting for something to snap, and when that something would....  
  
All hell would break loose.  
  
It was as if they were waiting for something before unleashing their power onto the tiny ships racing beneath them. As if Fliadopia knew that something was going. There was a dark energy crackling in the air, charging anything and everything that it touched. No one could escape.  
  
Hermione's heart was racing. She pulled out her spy glass again and focused it on the ship gaining on hers, inch by cursed inch. “Drat,” she muttered under her breath.  
  
They were loading cannons on the deck. He was out for blood.  
  
 _Well, he's not going to get away without losing some of his own, too,_  a voice in Hermione's head fumed. She could do this. She had to end it. It was up to her.   
  
And she wasn't going to lose to Draco Malfoy.  _The rat._  
  
Her hair flew in her face yet again, slapping against her skin. She pulled it back and wrapped it into a knot.  _That's better._  
  
For a moment she tried to remember what things were like before the game. The last war, the last everything. This was meant to be a distraction, and it was a damn good one. What would happen when they would need to return to the real world? They had been living in their own for such a long time now.  
  
A tap on her shoulder brought her back to the present.   
  
“Captain He-”  
  
“Toss it.”  
  
“What?” Thaddius said, taken aback. “Did you just call me a toss pot?”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Toss it. Everything. Every single thing on this ship except for the cannons, and the people.”  
  
“......Everything?”  
  
“Everything.” Hermione's eyes shone with a glittering determination. “We're not leaving that Island until someone wins.” The wind blew harder, stretching the sails to their limits. The ropes creaked in protest- not that anyone could hear them over the howling.  
  
“But if someone wins-”  
  
“Excactly. Now,  _toss it.”_  
  
Thaddius heard the edge in her voice, and backed off to give orders.  
  
A minute later, Hermione was standing at the front of the ship, vanishing the barrels that they were throwing into the water. She didn't want Malfoy to know that she was trying to get some advantage. She needed all the speed that she could get. She harnassed the wind, and now she just needed to make the baggage lighter.  
  
With her other hand, Hermione fingered the snitch in her pocket. She had everything, she just had to get there first. For whatever reason, she knew that it was going to be either her or Draco. One of them would win, and that was that.  
  
It was going to be her. She resisted the urge to knock on wood and brought the spyglass to her eye once more. She zeroed in on Draco's face, only to see it not focused on hers. Her brow furrowed. Blaise was standing beside him- gesturing a little more wildly than a poised and posh Slytherin usually would. She moved her spyglass to the direction Draco's face turned and then laughed.  
  
 _This is just too good._  
  
   
  
Pansy Parkinson was ready for battle. In fact, she had her pants made for it. Leather knee caps, gloves, sword shined to an inch of its shiny life. Her dark hair was lose, curling evilly around her shoulders. She had to save Draco from that hideous Gryffindor witch. One of them would have to die. Pansy, of course, preferred it to be the Mudblood, but if she had to kill Draco in order to win her bet, then she would do it. There was no way in hell that she would renounce her opinion on Mudbloods.  
  
Surprisingly, she didn't care about winning the game. She didn't give it any thought at all. The bet consumed her.  
  
She turned to the boy beside her whose name she didn't care to remember and asked, “Is there anyway we can go faster? We got this far.”  
  
He shook his head. “The speed charm can only hold up for so long, for whatever reason. It's not working anymore, we have to continue at whatever speed we're going. I suspect that those,” he pointed to the storm clouds that were cackling with thunder and teeming with lightning above them, “have something to do with it.”  
  
Pansy narrowed her eyes.  _Damn inconvenient._  “Jump off the ship.”  
  
The boy stepped back, eyes regarding her words with shock. “Excuse me?”  
  
“You heard me,” Pansy said, “Jump. Off.”  
  
“You've got to be kidding me, I can't help that the charm--”  
  
Pansy whipped out her wand and shot a charm at the boy- his debut into the ocean wasn't even heard. She twirled her wand, expression aggravated. Bloody Ridiculous.  _Can't even do one charm right, good for nothing little--”_  
  
Then she saw it. On the horizon. She pulled out her spyglass and raised it to her eye. What she saw shot heat through her bones- though she would never admit it.  
  
“ _No bloody way.”_  
  
It was too far away for Draco to see, but truly and honestly, he had more pressing matters at hand. The curly, competitive, eyes of fire-- _manipulative mudblood,_  was in front of him keeping just out of reach, and Pansy was on his tail.   
  
His eyes were on the verge of out storming the clouds. “What am I going to do?” he muttered under his breath.  
  
Blaise looked over at him. “What?”  
  
“Nothing.” Draco was never without a plan. Well, almost never. Now was one of those 'almost' moments. She had caught him off guard at the wedding. She had something- presumably the key- otherwise, she wouldn't be racing towards Siramadra.  
  
And he was gaining on her by the minute. A wicked gleam shot into his eyes. He was going to win because he was going to use her lack of sexual experience to do it. All he had to do was corner her, and strike.  
  
“Faster,” he shouted to his crew as he grasped the railing of the  _Shadow_  with his pale, beautiful hands. “Faster,” he whispered again, caressing the ship, urging it to go on.   
  
“I can't let her win.”  
  
Then ,as if the ship could feel his urgency, as if it actually understood, it actually went, if it was at all possible,  _faster._  
  
A smirk crept up onto Draco's lips. Her time was close.  
  
Four ships, each one gaining on the one in front of it. The ocean didn't like it all too much, the wood cutting into her back, but she was willing to put up with the pain. She hadn't seen this kind of scene in the entirety of her existence. Legions of ships, yes, but only four? Never. It was bound to be disasterous.  
  
She decided to indugle it anyway. Sometimes, for there to be a fantastic story, one has to endure a little pain.  
  
The ocean was a masochist. She didn't mind. And now, for a little fun.


	33. The End: Part I

It's been a long time. Refresh yourself if you feel it necessary. You may want to grab a snack, but you won't need it until you're done reading. You're about to eat some of the most delicious words off of this page. But you'll want more. That's when you'll have to make do with the snack.  
  
   
  
I would, however, advise a restroom break right now. There is no intermission during Part I and you won't want to leave this screen unattended, I promise.  
  
   
  
Now. I have but a couple requests of you.  
  
   
  
Take a deep breath. Roll your neck. Relax  
  
   
  
Count to three.  
  
   
  
Close your eyes.  
  
   
  
Open them.  
  
   
  
Forget your mortal world, allow me to transport you.  
  
   
  
It's nice to see you again, my dear readers :)  
  
   
  
I re-welcome you, to the world of Pirates.  
  
   
  
It was a stormy night at Hogwarts, the time? Just a little before midnight. Thunder shook the stones of the castle, rain pelting the windows, seemingly trying to break through. It was an odd winter this year- and it had warmed up just enough for rain. The castle, though, was teeming with life. About fifty students had lost The Game at this point, and were residing in the castle in their respective houses. However, the dormitories were empty- everyone was in the Great Hall, crowded around also watching mini displays of Fliadopia, as the Professor Snape and Headmistress McGonagall were at that very moment. The display of Fliadopia was directly in between Professor M and Snape. She glared at him over her cup of tea, eyes glittering dangerously. She was upset with him- angry. She had never been so angry in her life. However, it's not like she could kill him.  _Though if he were my child, I would tan him._  
  
   
  
She sipped from her cup, appearing calm, cool, and collected, save for those eyes, still eying the man.  
  
   
  
Severus was not lounging in his chair, no. He was leaned forward, fingers steepled, his own dark eyes focused on the game. “It's going to end soon,” he said in his clipped, quite voice.  
  
   
  
Minerva set her teacup into the saucer with a small click. “Well, I would assume that to be obvious.” She was not below being a little snarky at this point. The wretched, pesky, young man.  
  
   
  
Well, mostly young.  
  
   
  
“But one can only wonder, who will win.”  
  
   
  
Minerva shot him a look, as she stood up from the chair to pour herself some more tea. “Oh, I'm not the least bit curious, Severus.”  
  
   
  
“No?” He asked, eyes still on The Game.  
  
   
  
“No,” Minerva replied. “I simply like to...... let things unfold.”  
  
   
  
Severus's eyes shot up at the jibe, mouth quirking at the corner, almost beyond notice.  _There she is._ She would eventually forgive him for what he had done. He wasn't worried about it. “Care to make a bet?” he asked.  
  
   
  
Minerva put down the teapot, and sat back down in the chair. “I don't make bets, Severus. It is not my business to do so.”  
  
   
  
Snape remained silent for a stretch of thirty seconds. “Surely, you're curious. You can't not be. You have too much invested into this plan.”  
  
   
  
“So do you,” she said sharply over her steaming cup. “We all do. I can only hope this works, that Albus was on to something.”  
  
   
  
“Who.”  
  
   
  
“Albus--”  
  
   
  
“No,” Snape interjected. “Pick someone, Minerva. Who's going to win?”  
  
   
  
“I'm not playing this game with you, Severus,” she replied and put the teacup and saucer on the little stand next to her. She put her hands in her lap. “In the end, it doesn't matter who wins. What matters is that the result of this game is some kind of unification of our students. There has been a split between them too long. I walked into the Great Hall about an hour ago when The Game began showing a high action profile, and there are Hufflepuffs talking to Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and they seem to enjoy it.”  
  
   
  
“I saw that too, Minerva, but mostly among the younger ones. The more impressionable ones.”  
  
   
  
Minerva smoothed down her dress and walked over to the window. “You are right, of course,” she sighed. “It's the older ones.”  
  
   
  
The cackling of the fire burning merrily in the fireplace and the rain pattering the window filled the silence. Thunder boomed up in it's place. Minerva turned back around. “I do not have favorites. I simply want this to work.”  
  
   
  
“Liar,” Snape muttered under his breath. He stood up from the game and walked over to one of the many jars in the office and picked the one labeled 'Lemon Drops.'  
  
   
  
“I beg your pardon,” Minerva asked. She knew what he said.  
  
   
  
“I simply stated in one word that I think you are lying. I think you have a favorite. But I promise, Minerva, as clever as Mr. Potter is, he will not win.”  
  
   
  
“I kno--” She shut her mouth quickly.  
  
   
  
Severus's eyebrows raised just a hair. “What was that?”  
  
   
  
Minerva came back and sat down in the couch. “Nothing.”  
  
   
  
She put her eyes on the game, ignoring the sound of the jar opening. Snape put one of the yellow colored candies in his mouth, face scrunching just a little. The word  _disgusting_  came to mind. “Don't be ridi-”  
  
   
  
But Minerva had had enough. “Why don't you sit down and watch the game with wild abandon and yell like most men do?!”  
  
   
  
She looked up at him and was graced by what seemed like a small quirk of both corners of his lips. She was exasperated, but even so, her eyes twinkled.  _There he is._ She pursed her lips to feign anger, just to keep up the facade. He was still in there somewhere, and regardless of what he thought he knew was best for himself, Minerva knew the man needed some kind of saving, too.  
  
   
  
Without a word, Severus sat down, keeping the Game between them. One would want to call the silence comfortable, but one could never be to careful with such a storm battering the world outside.  
  
   
  
The fire popped angrily. It was show time.  
  
   
  
*  
  
The steel blades shot out of the side of  _The Shadow_ , ripping into the wooden ribs of  _The Lioness_. The assaulted ship screamed in protest. Draco held on to the railing of his own ship tightly, veins prominent in his pale arms as he held himself to the ship, not wanting to fall down. wiping the rain from his face with an cold, calculated swipe. The air was tinged with smoke from the cannons he had been firing at  _The Lioness_ from the back. The acrid taste of it burned the back of his throat. He had a silly thought to open his mouth and let the raindrops fall on his tongue for some relief. His mind violently threw the thought away.  _Madness._  He thought.  _Utter madness._  
  
   
  
Thunder rolled in the air, rain spattering, making everything slippery, darker than usual.  
  
   
  
He couldn't lose it now, he was far too close. The shuddering stopped quickly, and his crew was shouting. “Attack! Board her, leave no survivors, save Granger!” He yelled as loud as he could, and with that, his real plan began. “She's mine,” he hissed through his teeth. Draco watched his men grab ropes and swing into the smokey space that obscured Hermione's ship, for the fight.  
  
   
  
The captain of  _The Shadow_  did not grab one. Instead, he fingered the vial in his pocket and let the corner of his lip slip into a menacing grin.  
  
Hermione couldn't see his ship. It annoyed her, but logic told her that the smoke would dissipate quickly. She watched from her hiding spot as Draco's men swung through the smoke onto her ship, feet crashing onto the planks with a thud.  
  
   
  
It would only be seconds before they would realize the dead stillness on her ship, seconds before a confused look would cover their faces, seconds before--- “CHARGE!”  
  
   
  
Out from their hiding places sprung her bodily abled crew with scowls and fury on their faces. Hermione counted three instant flashes of blue light as swords plunged into bodies. But that wasn't what she was looking for. She grabbed her rope and with the others in the sails and on her count of three, they silently swung over to  _The Shadow,_ like silent shadows themselves. Then right before their feet thudded onto the planks, they let out a yell.  
  
   
  
The crew that remained on  _The Shadow_ instantly drew arms. No way were they going to give up their ship without a fight.  
  
   
  
Hermione dodged what seemed to be an eager fourth year and quickly flattened herself against one of the wooden walls, eyes quickly surveying the fight, looking for that tell-tale flash of blonde.....  
  
   
  
But then it hit her. He would never go out and fight a pawn's battle.  _He's probably sitting in his cabin drinking TEA that he made some poor soul make for him, the bast--_  Hermione took a deep breath and knew where she had to go. It was all the way across the ship, but she could make it. Her crew was able.  
  
   
  
She pushed off from the wall and started running, sword slashing away a deadly blade from Thaddius who didn't even have time to thank her. The wind suddenly gusted, making the rain slap her face hard. She reached up to wipe it off and tripped over a rope, slamming her to the ground. Someone stepped on her fingers.  _Hard._ “AHH!” The sound escaped her mouth as she pulled her fingers back and got into a crouch. The people around her were absorbed in their own fight.  
  
   
  
It was simply an accident. She flexed her fingers and continued her journey, half jogging when she came to the door.  
  
   
  
She would have reached for the handle except for one little thing. Dark eyes stared back at her. “Move, Blaise.”  
  
   
  
“I can't do that.”  
  
   
  
“Don't make me fight you,” She replied, honey eyes glinting in anger, water streaming through her hair.  
  
   
  
“Because I will.”  
  
   
  
“I know you will,” Blaise said. “But I have strict orders--”  
  
   
  
In a split second Hermione was upon him, a hand blade pricking his throat. “I said move,Zabini. And when I come out this door, victorious, you better be  _gone.”_  
  
   
  
Their faces were inches apart. The clattering and clamor all around them almost made her wince. His eyes turned.... a kind of emotion she couldn't place. “You don't want to go in there.”  
  
   
  
Hermione pushed the blade till Blaise winced, a small stream of blood running down his dark skin. “I don't want to hurt you, Blaise. I will ask you one more time to--”  
  
   
  
“I warned you,” He said, putting his hands up. Hermione moved the blade allowing him to go around her. “Good luck,” he said as he headed toward the fight, not even looking at her.  
  
   
  
“I won't need it,” Hermione said over her shoulder, but he was already in the fray.  
  
   
  
She tried to dry her hand on her soaking wet pants, but to no avail. She didn't know why she tried to wipe her hand. Was she sweating because she was nervous? Or was it just wet?  
  
   
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed.  _Enough._  
  
   
  
Her hand grasped the door handle and she yanked the door open, striding in. She slammed the door behind her.  
  
   
  
But the room was empty.  
  
   
  
And then, suddenly, she fell to her knees.  
  
   
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
   
  
Pansy's ship ripped into the  _Shadow,_  much like the Shadow ripped into the Lioness. She would have sunken had she not attached her ship to this merry group. She gripped the hand rail, and braced herself for what she knew was coming.  
  
   
  
Another rip, and the side of her boat was torn, by none other than His Majesty's ship.  
  
   
  
The British had arrived.  
  
   
  
But Pansy was not here for them.  
  
   
  
“CHARGE!” She yelled, fisting her sword up into the air. She ran off the helm to grab a rope to get from her ship to Draco's ship to get to Hermione's ship, to find Draco or Hermione....... Well, her plan had a lot of holes in it this time, but she couldn't plan for everything. Especially not for this  _weather._  The rain ran into her eyes, smearing the coal she had used to darken them. At least her lips would stay red,  _like the blood I'm going to spill,_ she added mentally.  
  
   
  
Just as she was getting ready to swing over, a body launched into hers, a strong arm circling her waist. She screamed. It was all she could do to keep her rain-soaked body from slipping into the small abyss between the ships. She clutched to the shirt, and that's when she saw the red hair.  
  
   
  
With a crash, their bodies landed onto the planks of  _The Shadow,_ Ron on the bottom, taking more of the fall. They landed in a tangle, her legs twined with his. The rush of heat she felt in her body only intensified when she looked up and saw the rage in his eyes. She tried to ignore it. “You _fool!”_  She said, scrambling up from the sodden planks. “You could have gotten us  _killed.”_  
  
   
  
He drew his sword. “Imagine  _that,”_  he spat at her. “You  _killed_ me, already, remember? Wasn't that big of deal then.”  
  
   
  
Pansy drew her sword. She wasn't about to be taken unawares. Not by this man. Not again. She wasn't going to look at how good his hair looked, soaked by the rain. She wasn't going to look at the muscles that were  _clearly_  defined by his wet shirt. She wasn't going to look at  _all._ But she had to keep her eyes on him.  _Damn it!_  
  
   
  
He was beautiful when he was angry. “Listen, Ronald,” She rolled the 'r' and gestured her cutlass in the air in a little circle, as if she were telling a story with it. “I had to kill you, I didn't have any other choice.”  
  
   
  
“Tell that to someone who will  _believe_  you, Parkinson. Because I don't believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.” The tip of his sword hit hers. But she wasn't paying attention. Not really.  
  
   
  
There was this one lock of hair, right in the middle of his forehead. It looked ridiculous. She wanted to brush it away with her hands.  _Don't. Touch. It._ “A lady never lies.”  
  
   
  
He stepped closer. “You're not a lady.”  
  
   
  
Pansy looked affronted. “Why, Ronald, what a mean thing to say.”  
  
   
  
 _I should really stop calling him that,_  she mused to herself.  _Wow, his eyes just look--_  
  
   
  
“Give me one good reason not to kill you, right now, Parkinson.”  
  
   
  
She opened her mouth to say something, but he interrupted her. “I'll kill you anyway. But humor me, I'd like to see what little tale you'd like to spin next.”  
  
   
  
She couldn't hold it in. Couldn't take it anymore. Ronald Weasley talking Slytherin was just, too much. She sidestepped his sword and grabbed his collar and dragged him towards her. She walked backwards until her back hit the railing. “How about I  _show_  you one?” She said, throatily. With that, she yanked him towards her, crashing his lips down onto hers.  
  
   
  
For once in his life, Ronald Weasley  _knew_  what to do with a woman. He put one hand in her hair, and the other on her back, pressing her to him as hard as he could. When it wasn't enough he put his hands on her waist and hauled her up, sitting her onto the railing roughly. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and pulled him even closer, mouth never leaving his. He kissed her  _back._ Took out his fury on this raven haired witch. He kissed her with all of the frustration he had. It was the best kiss he'd ever had. It was raining. It was cliché.  
  
   
  
And then, with that realization, it become un-cliche. When she bit his lip.  _HARD._  
  
   
  
“ _Bloody hell!”_ He exclaimed almost dropping her. He grabbed her waist with his large hands, lifted her from the railing, and resisted the overwhelming urge to slam her down onto those planks right there and then, not caring who was watching. “What was that for?!” If he was angry a second ago, he was even more furious now.  
  
   
  
Pansy almost withered and died. She couldn't wait to get back to the real world. To a real bed. The plans she had. “That was for making  _want_  to kiss you, Weasley, and this,” with lightning speed, she shoved him into a fight that had sprung up behind them, causing him to fend for himself, _and that is to stop you from doing it again._ She ran from him and to the other side of the ship, grabbed a rope, and with her running momentum, swung over and dropped onto  _The Lioness._  
  
   
  
Ron barely had anytime to react to anything. He got a cut on his upper arm before getting out of the mess she had tossed him in and with all the speed he had, he ran to grab her, but he was too late.  
  
   
  
She winked at him from the other side. He glared at her angrily; she blew him a kiss, the disappeared into the fray that seemed to be on  _every damn ship._ He grabbed the rope when it swung back over, but by the time he landed on  _the Lioness,_ she was not to be seen.  
  
   
  
She had bigger fish to catch.  
  
   
  
And by bigger, she meant blonder.  
  
   
  
And although she would never admit it, she quite liked red fish also....but dinner was later. Now, was brunch.  
  
   
  
Hermione stayed on her hands and knees for a moment, trying to regain her senses. Her knees were numb with the force they had knocked into the planks. Once, twice the ship shook. When it was done, Hermione shakily got up to her feet, leaning back against the door to regain herself. Then she took a deep breath. “Malfoy, I know you're in here.”  
  
   
  
No answer, but the bloodthirsty roars outside.  
  
   
  
“This isn't a game.”  
  
   
  
The “ _Au contrair”_ she was expecting didn't come.  
  
   
  
“Come on, Malfoy. I won't kill you, I promise.”  
  
   
  
“Now  _that,_ I don't believe for a second.”  
  
   
  
Hermione's face snapped to the direction of the bed.  
  
   
  
“Even if I  _were_  Malfoy.”  
  
   
  
That's when she saw the hands tied to the bedpost. How she missed them the first time, she had no idea. She hurried to the side of the bed, and gasped. The blue eyes seared her.  
  
   
  
“Dommanic.”  
  
   
  
For a moment she just stared at him. Those eyes, that face. Her heart skipped a beat. How--.....Who--... Why---?  
  
   
  
He simply looked. And looked. Eyes roved her. “It's nice to see you, too, Lady Granger, though you seem to be a little rough for wear. I'd kiss your hand to greet you, but as you can see, I'm a little tied up at the moment.”  
  
   
  
The emotions coursing through her were.... indescribable. Fury, confusion, he had cast her aside, but he was being nice. It was....  
  
   
  
And instantly, Hermione snapped out of her daze. He was a human. Her feelings aside, she had to save him. She fell to her knees. “Let me help you.”  
  
   
  
What she felt didn't matter any more. He was back, and that was her downfall. She was drawn to him like a moth was to a flame. It was almost tragic really. He  _told_  her he didn't want her. And yet....  
  
   
  
“You really shouldn't.”  
  
   
  
“I insist!” Hermione said, getting her hand blade out, the one she had used on Blaise. She wiped the blood on her pants with a grimace then got closer to his hands--  
  
   
  
“Ah, ah. What did I just say.”  
  
   
  
“You're delusional,” Hermione said with a small smile. “Of course I'm going to help you get out of here.” She didn't look at his face. Kept her focus on his hands. His beautiful hands.......  
  
   
  
The knife bit into the rope.  
  
   
  
“You really don't want to do that, love.”  
  
   
  
 _Love._ There was that tug in her brain again. She ignored it. It was probably nothing.  
  
   
  
Hermione's smile faded a little. “Look, I'm going to help you. I won't cut you, I swear on it.”  
  
   
  
“You swear you won't slice me with your sword?”  
  
   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched none the less. “It's only a dagger. But I swear.”  
  
   
  
“Don't say I didn't warn you.”  
  
   
  
“Don't be ridiculous.” Hermione started sawing through the rope on his hands, the knife fraying the rope.  
  
   
  
“What are you doing in here anyway? Wanting to kill Malfoy?”  
  
   
  
“Something like that,” Hermione answered, still cutting through the thick knots.  
  
   
  
A moment later, his hands broke free. “There,” Hermione said. “You're free to go.”  
  
   
  
“I suppose I am, aren't I.” He shrugged the rope off his hands and looked at her, blue eyes laughing. But not the kind of laugh Hermione expected to see.  _What the--_  
  
   
  
Suddenly, Dommanic's skin started changing. Getting paler.  
  
   
  
“Are you alr--”And she choked on her words.  
  
   
  
The planes of his face were getting more angular.....and when he opened his mouth to speak, a shiver of sheer disbelief and terror ran through her entire body, rooting her to the spot like the  _Petrificus Totalus_ curse. “I warned you, Granger.”  
  
   
  
The brown hair was taken over by a wave of blonde, the blue eyes turning to gray as she stared that them, lips turned slightly fuller, cheekbones higher, skin....paler.....  
  
   
  
Hermione couldn't speak, her mouth wouldn't open. Not to say a single word. Her body was screaming at her to get away from there, but she couldn't move. Her brain was in utter shock. Finally, when she got a breath into her lungs, she she spluttered, “You!”  
  
   
  
“That's right,” Draco said, walking over to the corner and grabbing a cutlass that had made it's home there. “Me.” He turned to her, pulling the sword out of the sheath. “I'm going to kill you, Granger. I'm going to bleed you then snap your pretty little neck right after you tell me where the key is.”  
  
   
  
Hermione was still staring at him. It took her another moment to process what he said. But it didn't matter. “You were Domma--”  
  
   
  
“Dommanic the whole time, yes,” He finished. He walked towards her, and when he was just two feet away from her he stopped. His eyebrow shot up. “You're telling me you didn't even suspect it?” Draco's eyes lit up. “You, the brightest witch of our age, couldn't see through my charade?” When Hermione didn't answer, he smirked. “I can't believe it!”  
  
   
  
And that was when the anger started to boil in her veins. Slowly, at first. He noticed it. It was like watching a torch go up in flame. It was maddeningly beautiful. He watched her eyes spark from shock to life to anger in a second, watched the anger blush into her cheeks. Even her freckles popped out at him. His eyes dropped to her mouth that seemed even pinker and fuller than before. His hands flexed, fingers now biting into her hips. Her lips parted under his gaze. Then, words. “It was  _you.”_  
  
   
  
She needed him to look her in the  _eyes,_ damn it. They lingered on her lips and then lazily looked into her eyes, spearing her with their apparent nonchalance. But the fingers flexed harder. Hermione ignored them. She put her hands in between them and poked at his chest. “It was  _you_  all _along!_ How could I have been so--”  
  
   
  
“Stupid?” He offered up to her with a slight smirk. “It's not your fault, honestly. I'm a brilliant actor, Granger.”  
  
   
  
She had been played. Played like a deck of cards on a Saturday night at a casino table. “Re _act_  to  _this.”_ In a split second she whipped her sword out and clashed it against his. She was done. Absolutely  _done._  
  
   
  
She maneuvered her sword fast as lightening, making him change positions with her. Keeping him on the defensive. With a couple slashes and cuts she had him cornered, the bed was behind her and his back was to the door _“_ You may be a good actor,” she said, still on the offensive, She crushed her body weight against her sword, which caused him to stumble, and in that moment she ripped the hilt from his from his hands. The cutlass clattered on the floor. “ But you're also a  _dead man._ ” Her cutlass was pointed at his throat. “Hands up, Malfoy. I'll kill you quickly.”  
  
   
  
He was a complication that she didn't need anymore. Him and his shocked grey eyes. He had been taken unawares. But she didn't care. She didn't want to gloat. She was tired. She wanted to sleep in a real bed. She wanted to take a scalding bath in prefects bathroom and eat real food. She wanted real life. And this was lacking. She would deal with her emotions and issues later.  
  
   
  
She narrowed her eyes at him, as he slowly put his hands up.  
  
   
  
Suddenly, a  _boom_ of a cannon permeated the walls, and Hermione's focus was broken for a split second. But that was all he needed. Draco lunged forward, grabbing her wrist with the cutlass in one hand, and reached for her throat with the other. He smashed his body against her, the momentum crashing them onto the bed, with him on top. In a second, he had straddled her, gaining full control. He squeezed her wrist until she let out a surprised and audible gasp. “Ow!” Her fingers released the cutlass. He pressed his other hand into her throat. “A dead man, you say?”  
  
   
  
Her other hand reached up and grabbed at his throat, fingers grasping, finding a lodge. She got his chin instead.  _Damn!_  She did what she could and pushed his face to the side, squishing up his cheek in a most unattractive fashion. He was almost amused. “Damn, it, woman!” He couldn't see, but he moved his hand from her throat, and put it on  _her_  face. She how she would like it. Hermione instantly started struggling beneath him. He put his hand on what he assumed was her cheek and pushed her face to the side into the pillow in a quick motion. A gasp of pain escaped her lips as a kink shot up her neck. She let go of his face instinctively and reached to move his hand and that's when she knew she had made a mistake.  
  
   
  
His hand shot out and grabbed her other wrist and put her arms above her head. Hermione twisted her hands quickly and tried to get away, but he wouldn't have it. He grabbed both hands with his and locked them, this time, for good above her head.  
  
   
  
Her legs shifted to knee him ever so pleasantly, but he was faster. In a moment, her wrists were encased by one set of curled fingers, and her pant encased upper thigh another. It was almost comical, the poor girl. “Stop struggling, Granger. I won.”  
  
   
  
Hermione spat at him. He turned his face to the side- the spit landed on his cheek. “You didn't want to do that,” he hissed, suddenly not amused anymore.  
  
   
  
“And why not, Malfoy?”  
  
   
  
He leaned forward as if to whisper something in her ear, but then smeared his cheek against hers. “What you'll do to me, I will  _not_  hesitate to do to you,” he said hotly in her ear. “I will return  _everything,_  two fold, have I made myself understood?”  
  
   
  
Hermione didn't say anything, but he took her silence as an answer. He retreated back to his position above her, so he could see her face.  
  
   
  
“Now,” He took a leaned slightly forward, putting her on the defensive. “Anything else you'd like to add to that,  _love.”_ His hands flexed, fingers biting into her thigh.  
  
   
  
Hermione was livid. Absolutely LIVID. “You played me,” she hissed. “You played dirty. You have NO honor. No morals.  _Nothing._ You broke me down as a  _person,_ Malfoy, by telling me you didn't want me at the Ball. I felt worse off for that. You killed a part of me. And to think,” she laughed harshly in his face, “ that I almost thought I liked you. I just saved you five minutes ago because I  _liked_  you.”  
  
   
  
“You fool,” he responded, “You liked my alter--”  
  
   
  
But Hermione was too angry to stop. “You toyed with my emotions as if they were some kind of little game that your parents got your on a whim. You and your alter ego are the SAME PERSON. You think it's ok to play games inside of this game, but what's happening is all  _real._ You--”  
  
   
  
“Stop it,” Draco murmured.  
  
   
  
“But you don't  _care!_  You think it's all a game, but it's  _not,_ Draco Malfoy! You--”  
  
   
  
“Stop it,” He said, this time, louder. She was getting too close to the truth.  
  
   
  
“DAMN YOU,” her eyes finally went ablaze as she completely, and utterly exploded, she struggled beneath him as the words escaped her mouth. “ _I_ _KISSED YOU, MALFOY!”_  
  
   
  
The air around them froze. The words hung in the air, electrifying it. The words instantly flew on replay.  _I kissed you, Malfoy. I kissed you, Malfoy. I kissed you, Malfoy._  
  
   
  
Their eyes were locked, she was breathing hard, he, holding his breath. They couldn't move. She had kissed him.  _Him._  He never made that connection. And just like that, with a three word sentence, the bridge between Dommanic and Draco was burnt. Hermione had finally connected the two as truly one and the same, one was just a facet of the other. She hadn't kissed Dommanic, she had kissed  _him._  Maybe not completely for him, but  _him,_  none the less. She had said it wish such fury that the words she said next completely floored him.  
  
   
  
“And damn it, you wanted to kiss me back.”  
  
   
  
His eyes were boring into hers. She couldn't read them. They were cold, grey, impassive. Scrutinizing her. She was too far gone, too angry to take back anything she said. She was also playing a dangerous game. She needed him to kiss her. Needed it badly. And as much as she wanted to say she wanted him to kiss her just so she could win the bet- she couldn't.  
  
   
  
She wanted him to kiss her. And it scared her.  
  
   
  
His eyes were going from one of her eyes to the other. The silence stretched on. Hermione wanted to prompt him, but knew the silence was something he needed. She felt his fingers bite harder into her thigh, sending a rush of heat through her body. She didn't move a muscle.  
  
   
  
And then, for a split moment, as he breathed in to speak, his eyes showed a million emotions at once. Hermione couldn't read them. Not a single on of them. It left her floored. His eyes went from a light grey, to a dark one.  
  
   
  
Then he opened his mouth to speak.  
  
   
  
“You are comical,”  
   
  
Her eyes widened in shock.  _Excuse me?_ Her mouth opened to speak, but he interrupted her.  
  
   
  
“You really believe that, don't you.”  
  
   
  
It wasn't a question. “You really think that  _I_ wanted to kiss you, to touch you, to  _seduce you--”_  
  
   
  
“Let me go.” Hermione shut her eyes. She couldn't cover her ears. She didn't want to hear this.  
  
   
  
“ _Granger._ How could you be so  _foolish?”_  
  
   
  
Her heart clenched. She started wringing her hands inside of his, trying to get away. She had to get away. She couldn't play the game. She wasn't him. She couldn't do it like he could. She had to get out. Out of this wretched world.  
  
   
  
“I don't know what's going on in your pretty little head, but you were just a  _game_  to me.”  
  
   
  
Her eyes flew open. He was closer. He was looking straight down down at her, lips smirking, but she noticed one thing: the smirk didn't reach his eyes. He leaned closer. “You were just a  _game,_  Granger. Don't mistake it for something it wasn't. You wanted me because I  _made_  you want me.”  
  
   
  
“Malfoy.” Hermione repeated. She couldn't listen anymore. She could feel the tears of shame burning the back of her eyes. “Let. Me. Go.”  
  
   
  
“No.”  
  
   
  
She breathed in. Her blood running hot and cold at the same time. She wanted more than this. Needed more than this.  _But you can't have more than this._ It would forever remain a fantasy. She watched his mouth open to say something else, something Hermione knew would just make her snap, but she interjected before he could say a word, letting herself down to the lowest level before the man who confused her, who she wanted to despise so badly, but couldn't. She closed her eyes and let the one word out.  
  
   
  
“Please.”  
  
   
  
A moment later she opened them. The smirk was gone from his face. He simply looked down at her. Without a word, he released her wrists and her thigh and rolled over and got up off the bed. She stayed, laying, and stared up at the wooden planks that made the ceiling, trying to collect herself.  
  
   
  
For a few moments, all that could be heard was the fighting outside. A cannon went off, and just like that, Hermione turned off the emotional switch. She was here for a reason. She sat up, and looked at Draco, who was leaning against the door of the room, both cutlasses in hand.  
  
   
  
She stood up and walked towards him. She wasn't going to cry. The bastard didn't deserve her tears. But before she could ask for her cutlass, he held it out to her.  
  
   
  
Warily, she took it. She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up one hand, effectively silencing her.  
  
   
  
“I'm giving you a two minute head start, Granger, then I'm coming after you. I'll kill you if I can, make no mistake about it.” He paused for a second, eyes probing hers. Grey clashed with brown. “I'm not going to play anymore games with you except for this one Granger.”  
  
   
  
He opened the door to the chaos outside. Instantly the smell of gunpowder, ocean, and rain flooded the room. He gestured for her to walk out the door. When she paused, he prompted, “Your two minutes started twenty seconds ago.”  
  
   
  
“I'm going to win, Malfoy,” she spat at him, “just in case you were making a mistake about  _that.”_  
  
   
  
“Thirty-one, thirty-two.”  
  
   
  
She couldn't take it anymore. She yanked the door handle from him and went out into the rain. When she slammed the door, Draco could have sworn it left a crack.  
  
   
  
As soon as he was sure she was gone, he slid down the planks, and buried his face in his hands, breathing hard. His clothing was damp. Because hers were. He breathed deeply. He could smell her one him. In the air in the room. A twinge of lemon.  
  
   
  
He set his mouth in a hard line and tried not to breath. He closed his eyes, trying to gain some shred of composure. He had almost lost it.  
  
   
  
 _And you almost kissed her. Again._  Draco shut the voice off with a huge mental shove. He didn't need that right now. He had to.... sort himself out. He couldn't step out there like this. He was.... distracted. He would walk out and a sword would go through him in a second, and he wouldn't be able to stop it. She was slowing him down.  
  
   
  
It was the hardest he'd ever resisted. He was so used to letting himself have whatever he wanted. He never needed to say no. But this was a special case. Every ounce of him wanted her. Ever single molecule and atom that made his being was screaming for him to kiss her, to absolutely ravage her and her fiery eyes, and how he had said no to himself, he had  _no_ earthly idea. He just spouted the same nonsense twice and she  _bought_ it? He hadn't expected her to.  
  
   
  
She had seduced him without even knowing she had. She had seduced him and caught him unawares. And  _god_ , did he want her.  
  
   
  
He could still remember the feel of her beneath him, the width of her thigh, the slenderness of her wrists captured in his single hands. She had been soaked from the rain, her hair plastered around her face. Her eyelids darker from the wetness. Her white shirt had been plastered to her skin, pants tight around her legs. Thinking that those legs could be wrapped around him---  
  
   
  
His imagination ran  _wild._  
  
The things he would have done to her had the one shred of sanity he had left not shown up.  
  
   
  
He could still fell her in his hands. With that thought, his fingers curled into fists.  
  
   
  
 _Contain yourself, Draco._ He stood up and punched the wooden wall, making a dent. He hissed in pain. He could feel the splinters. With anger, he grabbed his wand from under his pillow and removed them magically. He was going crazy. No doubt about it.  
  
   
  
He blamed the game. The feverish feeling in his blood was an illness; there was nothing else that it could be. The game was messing with his entire being, his sanity. As soon as they got back into the real world, she would turn into the undesirable, annoying, know it all, bookworm of a Mudblood she always was before and he wouldn't want her. Wouldn't want to kiss her, devour her, discover her secrets, follow that one freckle on her collarbone down to...  
  
   
  
“DAMN IT.” His fingernails bit into his palms. He stood, rigid, in the middle of the room, every muscle packed with lust, bones threatening to break themselves from the anger that was mounting inside of him. He hated himself.  
  
   
  
He wasn't allowed to want her. Couldn't want her. It was against every fiber of his being. He  _had_  to shut it off. If he gave into the madness, he would lose himself completely.  
  
   
  
He had to end this game.  
  
   
  
If he kissed her......  
  
   
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. He couldn't do this anymore. Her two minutes were up. Draco walked up to the door slowly, then wrenched it open, tearing it off the hinges completely. The rain fell on his hair, plastering it to his skin, but he didn't care. The storm matched his mood. Lightning crackled in his eyes.  
  
   
  
“Ready or not, Granger, here I come.”


	34. Almost Doesn't Count

Pansy's plush red lip lifted to let out a growl against the rain. Her hair was plastered on her forehead, and she knew it didn't look pretty.  _Damn._

It was agitating her to no end. Her nail had chipped a while ago, and there was an offensive tear in her pants. But she was still in one piece, could not suppress an eye roll inspired by the idiots yelling their bloody lungs off swiping their swords around like sticks with no poise. She crinkled her nose in disgust as someone spiked someone else with a sword and a yell.

  _Amateurs._

She sauntered between the flashing blades, none of them touched her. It was impressive, and she definitely thought so herself. Her eyes however, were not on the mindless idiots around her- she was looking for that telltale flash of blonde hair that sometimes made her heart skip five beats.

But only sometimes.

He was just as vain as her, they were nearly one and the same. Their bloodlines, their values, their morals. They were both cold hearted, hot lovers. Of course, she would always carry a candle, hell, a blazing  _torch_  for him, but the time for that had passed. Maybe it would come back again, maybe it wouldn't. For now, it didn't matter. She had other men on her plate.  _Don't I always?_ Her lip quirked up.

 _Is that---_     _Nope. Just another spineless moron._

Her fists clenched. She was getting frustrated. The time was ticking with every roll of thunder and flash of lighting that passed by, with every drop of rain that screwed up her hair. With an agitated hand, she pushed it from her face.  _Damn it all to hell._

She heard a roar behind her. “Bloody hell, SHUT UP, _”_ she yelled as she swiveled around.

And then she saw him, flinging the door open, knocking the plank of wood off its hinges. For a second, she couldn't breath. It was glorious. A crack of thunder and a very well placed stroke of lightening blazed in the sky.

_Draco Malfoy._

Pansy rolled her eyes. Even the weather slaved for him.

She headed toward the blonde with intent. She was going to kill him. He probably wouldn't mind. Hermione still had a chance in hell to win the bet and she couldn't allow that to happen. Personally, she would have preferred killing Hermione. There would have been a lot more personal pleasure from that. Seeing her face-- But it didn't matter. She had one piece of the puzzle, so she would exploit it. Draco would understand.....

Eventually.

She pulled the pistol from her belt, and strode toward him. He hadn't seen her yet, but in a second he would. They were friends. She couldn't just kill him in cold blood. She stepped into his line of vision. “Hello, Draco.”

Her grey eyes snapped towards her. He didn't say a word. He didn't even really acknowledge her. Was he walking past---- Oh, hell no. “I said, _hello,_ Draco.”

 _She_   was following   _him_? This was preposterous. Pansy quickened her step. She wasn't going to shoot him in the back. He would never forgive her for something like that----

Ah. Well, damn. It seemed like she was screwed after all.

“Not now, Pansy.”

_Damn, but his voice was smooth. Just rough enough to--_

She grabbed his upper arm and stepped in front of him. “Yes, now, Draco.”

He jerked his arm away. “I have something to attend to, you can wait.”

“Oh, no I can't.” She cocked her pistol, and pointed it at his heart. Her grasp was cold, unwavering, unflinching.

He didn't break eye contact with her. He honestly didn't have time for this bullshit. “You shot me in the back, so now you want to shoot me in the front, too?”

“Oh, come on, Draco, it's just a game,” she retorted flippantly. “I did what I had to do.”

“You could have shot Granger instead.”

“You were in the way.”

“And now you're in my way.”

She didn't stand a chance. His lighting fast seeker reflexes ripped the gun from her almost perfect fingertips (damn that chip!) and pointed it at her.  _Traitor,_ she thought at the gun.

“I'd shoot you, but it's not worth my time,” He spat, eyes furious. Without breaking his gaze, he flung her gun overboard. “Cross me again, Parkinson, and I'll kill you. I'm not playing around.” His stare speared her, freezing her to the spot. She'd never seen him so angry. She almost took a step back, but her pride wouldn't allow it. He started to walk by her again.

“I can help you.”

He didn't even look at her. His eyes were focused on the raging sea, more specifically, at a little rowboat that was quickly making its way towards the shore. “Damn it!” he hissed. His hands wrapped into fists and slammed the railing with a loud CRACK. He was  _so close._  His hands ran through his hair.  _Why did I let her have those two minutes._  “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

She walked up next to him. Didn't even look at him. And then she understood who was in the boat. Only one person could make him swear that much other than his father. “You want the Mudblood, don't you.”

It wasn't a question. It was the lack of the question mark, in fact, that made his blood run cold.

His head snapped towards the raven haired witch. “No, I--”

“So do I.”

His heart stopped beating. And the started up again. She had no idea. She wasn't talking about the raging lust inside of him. She wasn't talking about that at all. She was talking war strategy. The relief inside of his chest blossomed to his very fingertips. He didn't relax, but thank Merlin, she had no idea.

She looked him in the eye. “We both want her, Draco.”

He almost laughed at her, but sombered up as the little boat got smaller and smaller. “You have no idea.”

“Then let's  _get her._ ”

He leaped onto the railing like a graceful cat and jumped into the rowboat that hanging there. He needed an ally. Pansy wasn't a bad option. She was good, he had to give her that much. He reached out a hand to her, which she grabbed with a grin. “This is going to be fun!”

The smile that slashed across her face was echoed by her cutlass as the deadly metal slashed through the rope; the rowboat plummeted down into the ocean's angry waves.

Draco pulled out his wand and muttered a spell. With a jerk, the wooden vessel was off towards the shore with a bang, leaving a churning wake behind it. He gave her her two minutes. And now she was going to give him the treasure.

* * *

 

For the first time in his life, Ron was a step ahead of the game. He grinned at Harry from between the rocks on the shore that they were hiding behind. As soon as Pansy shrugged him, he knew he had to get to the Island. That was where the action would be taking place anyway. The Grand Finale. He may not have been the best Quidditch player in the world, but he was  _very_  good at chess, and as Hogwarts resident master, he knew a thing or two about strategy. “I told you they'd come.”

“So what's the game plan again?” Harry asked, touching the cutlass at his side. He was, shamefully, not the best swordsman. It made him wince to think about it. He was much better with his wand, anyway.

He watched Hermione and her chosen team climb out of the little ocean beat rowboat with undeniable speed and a grace he hadn't realized she had. Then, like they, she stumbled as the sand rumbled beneath her. “Faster!” she yelled, running, knees going up as high as they would.

“It's booby trapped,” Ron said to Harry. “This whole Island is. Which is--”

“--why we're going to follow  _them._ Ronald, you're a genius!” Harry exclaimed with a grin. For the first time in this entire game, he was having fun. His heart was racing pleasantly. This wasn't dangerous. After the war, nothing was dangerous, really. He had faced Voldemort. It was the most terrifying moment of his life. This game was what he needed. The intruige, the silly danger- well, damn. He should have been a Pirate in the first place, maybe he could have avoided the wigs and the marriage mess.  _Girls._  Harry rolled his eyes.

The rain felt refreshing on his face. The worst part was, it made them deaf.

Ron realized this as soon as Harry did. “The plan is to keep Hermione safe. The cavalry's coming! Let's go!” the redhead said. They sneaked behind the rocks and into the jungle, keeping flashes of Hermione's form about 20 feet ahead of them. Ronald looked back out at the sea to see one more boat crash on shore. “Quick!” He pushed Harry deeper into the foiliage.

 

* * *

Thump. Thump. Thump. Slash. Crash. Thump. Splash.

Her heart pounded in her ears as her feet almost tripped over themselves.  _Faster, Faster,_ she beseeched her legs as they slapped through jungle leaves. Water poured down from the sky in buckets, she could barely see ahead of her. She grabbed her wand out of her pocket. “Point me!” she panted. The wand jerked her a little to the east, and she kept running. Susan was right behind her, and Thaddius was somewhere close. She didn't have time. She didn't have hours. She only had minutes.

Two, to be precise. And with his long legs, he was shaving those two minutes to probably one right now.

 _This is feeling ridiculously like de ja vu,_  Hermione thought to herself.   _Oh, because it DID._ The last time she was on the Island, she was being pursued by the blonde male. She was always running. Why couldn't she be the predator?!

But that thought stopped right there. She may not be the predator, but she was going to be the winner, and that's all that mattered. She had the snitch. She knew the spell. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing.

As long as she stayed ahead of Malfoy, she'd be fine.  _Just fine...._

“Someone's following us!” Susan said through heaving breaths.

 _Damn._ He was faster than she thought. Her heart rate picked up a notch.

“And it's not Malfoy!”

This almost caused Hermione to stop. “What?” She whipped her head to the side and looked Susan in the face. She almost stumbled over a root. “Then who is it?!”

 Susan looked over her shoulder. “Dunno! Just keep running!”

Hermione grabbed her hand and they dove into the entrance of the maze. The snakes were going to be a lot harder to see this time, but it didn't matter. She just needed to get to the cliff. “We need to slice through the maze.” She said to Thaddius who was on her left.

“But that'll make it easier for Malfoy--”

“He'll do it if we don't, and that means that he'll make it there before we do. Do it,” Hermione yelled through the rain. “Point me!” She demanded of her wand. It turned her a full quarter circle. “Go!”

Thaddius raised his wand and made an “X” motion with his wand and yelled out a spell. It looked like an invisible knife was cutting through the leaves, shredding them. He motioned forward with a strong thrust of his wand and the wall fell to the ground. Hermione's heart lifted. “Run!”

They ran forward through the slashes in the maze, the vines on the ground grabbed for their legs. Hermione didn't even want to think about what would happen if the snakes arrived. Maybe the spell would work on them, too. Maybe it wouldn't. She didn't have time to think about it, or make a contingency plan. She knew this wasn't well thought out. She was unstoppable when she had preparation- but without it, well.... she was good. But that might not be enough this time.

Hermione pushed the thought away. She could do this. She had to.

Hermione caught a glimpse of the cliff high above the tree tops. She ran into its shadow.

_Almost there. Almost there._

 

* * *

 

They plowed through the maze, breathing hard. Draco was fit, but he wasn't a  _god._

He smirked for a second, the memory of the Great Hall crossing his mind... But his thoughts digressed. The pouring rain smacked the smirk right off of his lips. She was getting sloppy, he realized as he ran through the cut walls. It was an interesting development. The only thing that was ever sloppy about her was her hair.

 Suddenly, a shock of cold ran through his body.  _Stop thinking about her._ The irony was not lost on him. He was running after the thing he was running  _from._  It was almost silly. But he had to catch up to her. She had the key, the spell, and she knew how to get to the treasure.

And he was two minutes behind. Two whole bloody minutes. All because his brain must have had an aneurism or something for two seconds while he stared into her weepy eyes. His time was running out, and he could feel the desperation trying to creep into his veins. He was on the fringe, the edge. He made his feet keep moving. “Faster!” he muttered under his teeth. He jumped over a flailing branch, only to belatedly realize--

“SNAKES!” Pansy screeched. She darted in front of him at the speed of light. He heard an unnatural crunch under his feet.

“Bloody hell, I can't catch a BREAK.”Draco yelled into the air.

 

He dodged a hissing snake with a yell, not wanting to kill his house mascot.  _Traitor,_ he shot at the snake. 

Another wall passed in a blur. That's when he saw it. He put on an extra burst of speed and caught up to the terrified Pansy.

“Did you see that?” He said, jogging next to her.

“See what? The sna--”

“No!” Draco said. “THAT.”

 Pansy looked forward and …..

 “That's not Granger,” she panted in confusion.

 “No.” Draco looked at the back that disappeared into the shadow of the cliff. He had seen that backside way too many bloody times in his lifetime. If he saw it one more time (too late!) it would have been a million times too many. “Bloody Potter.”

 Fifteen seconds later, he and his partner in crime disappeared into the shadow also.

 Hermione had to be only thirty seconds ahead. And as much as she hated to say it, she was also a girl. Draco would catch up to her in no time. No time at all. He almost had her.

_Almost._

 

 

* * *

 

Harry and Ron raced across the swinging bridge, clueless that Draco was less than 15 seconds behind them. They didn't look back, only forward at Hermione's racing form. If either of them tripped, Draco would be on them in seconds.

  _If._

 Ron knew that someone was pursuing. He just didn't know it was Draco. If he would have known, in hindsight, he probably would have fought the sucker right then and there. Maybe...

  _Maybe._

Ron and Harry climbed, up and up, following the flashes of Hermione and who Ron could only assume to be Susan and some young lad he saw on the left. Some underclassman probably. He was almost insulted that Hermione didn't ask them to team up with her. If anything, so much more could have been accomplished. He would have formed a strategy, blah blah blah, and they could have won super fast.

But for some reason, Hermione had gone rouge. The Golden Trio was not together on this one. Not at all. He didn't like it.

But then again, who was he to talk. He was snogging Pansy Parkinson. Or at least, he thought he was. He wasn't quite sure what to do with that.

“Faster!” Harry said, looking at Ron. They kept climbing up, up, up. Over a rock, hands clutching wet stones, slippery fingers threatening to let them fall at any moment.

“This is crazy,” muttered under his breath. But his heart was beating fast, and he loved it. It was the same feeling, that same feeling of The Chase that made him feel great. It was why he played Quidditch. He wasn't sure what he was doing now. He just knew that Hermione had a reason to be here, and for some reason, it felt like that last game- the game that would make or break the House Cup.

And Ron always followed his gut in games.

“Oi!”

....

“OI!”

Harry thought he was hearings. But when Ron looked at him with confusion, he knew. They both looked back behind them.

“Shit,” they muttered in unison.

“Malfoy,” Harry swore.

“Keep climbing, don't retaliate. We have to get there before they do! That, and we don't associate ourselves with ferrets!” Ron grunted. 

Harry almost laughed.

_Almost._

The rain continued pouring down, not caring about their predicaments. Ron couldn't think about her right now. Not while it was ringing, and not while her shirt was absolutely see through.

  _Hermione, get to Hermione._

It was his gut instinct.

Poor Ronald, doesn't he know that gut instinct can most certainly be wrong?

 

 

 

* * *

 

Draco grabbed a rock right next to the Boy-Who-Lived's ankle. Draco wouldn't fight them, he had already decided this. He didn't have that much time. “Get out of the damn way, Potter!” He shouted to the brown-haired boy above him. A couple rain drops fell into his mouth- he almost choked on them.

Just as he was about to cough the rain out, he saw her. She was just a little bit ahead of them. Just enough ahead of them to be far away, though. He pulled himself up to Harry's thigh level. In five seconds, he was beside Harry, Pansy on his heels.

Harry shouldered into him.  _Hard._

Draco shot the other male a glare, “Watch it, Potter. As much as I'd love the satisfaction of being able to say I killed your arse,” he gained another foot, “I don't have the time.” Another six inches. He heard the ginger scoff over the rain. Really, he heard it over the _deafening_ rain. Draco almost snorted.  _The loud buffoon._

“Oh yeah! You're here to kill 'Mione, ferret! Don't think we don't know!”

Draco rolled his eyes at the gross shortening of her name.  _It's Hermio---_ he stopped himself.  _Focus._ “Strike-one, Weasel.”

Just as he was going to ad something else, something more witty, Harry yelled in pain. Draco's eyes widened in surprise. He jerked around and looked down at the shiny little dagger jammed into Harry's ankle, which had begun to bleed. Ron stopped immediately and shuffled to try to help his panting friend.

“Get it out!” Harry gritted, not moving, fingers white with tension trying to hold on to the steep, slippery surface.

 _How many daggers does it take to put down the Boy Who Lived and his amazing sidekick? Only ONE._  Pansy grinned at up Draco. “Move!”

Ron glared at her“You bi--”

But his words were tragically lost in the rain.  
  
Draco cocked a brow at her as she pulled even with him. “You play dirty.” 

Pansy winked. “You like it.”

They pulled themselves over to a bit of level land and sprinted towards the springing bridge, but Hermione had gotten there ten seconds before them. She had already started crossing it. The chasm gaped beneath her.

“Granger!” he shouted as he was running.

The witch almost lost her footing as she looked back at him, eyes wild, fingers grasping the rope for her life. The wind was higher here. She didn't say anything. Her eyes focused on him for a moment. And then she started hurrying across the wailing, hungry chasm.

It was only then, that he noticed the two guards,  _Hufflepuff Bones,_  he thought, and then there was some kid he didn't know- that she had posted at the gate. They had their swords drawn, ready to fight. Then suddenly-- 

BOOM. BOOM.

Draco jumped up into the air. There was a flash of blue light, and then.... the Mudblood's makeshift guards weren't there.

 _Dead meat._ If Pansy could have blown the smoke off of her pistol, she would have. She smirked at Draco. His looks were their downfall. They should have stared at her instead.

Susan and Thaddius didn't even see it coming, the poor unfortunate souls.

She tilted her head at the blonde man. “You're welcome. Again.”

 

Draco almost rolled his eyes. His lips curled up. “What's in it for you, Parkinson.”

She searched his eyes for a moment.

“I'm not in it to win it,” she said to Draco. “It's yours for the taking. You just need to steal it from the Mudblood.”

Draco looked at her as they hurried over to the entrance to the bridge. He could tell that Hermione was almost across. He didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't win. Not with this head start, no way. He was lost.

“You still have your foot in the door.”

Draco was silent. She could tell he was at the edge, literally.

 _Poor Draco._ She put a hand on his shoulder. “I sent Blaise.”

His gaze jerked sharply towards her. His heart beat raced faster. “You what?”

 “I just saved your ass. He'll distract her till you get there. Now go!” She pushed the unbelieving blonde towards the bridge. Hermione had just hopped off the other end.

Draco could have kissed the raven- haired witch in front of him. Too bad he had already used his voucher for stupid decisions for the day. He didn't even mutter a thank you as he stepped onto the bridge, testing his weight.

Then, he was gone.

Twenty seconds later, Pansy put her booted foot on the first rung. A show wasn't a show without Pansy Parkinson. How could she miss the grand finale?

 

 

 

* * *

 

Hermione jumped of the end. She had made it. Well, almost.

 Going the untraditional route up the cliff saved her time- she didn't have to punch her signet all over the place. All she had left was to sing to the stupid rock. Her relief was almost overwhelming.

Then, the wave stopped. She remembered. She had heard gunshots. In truth, they had made her heart almost jump out of her chest...but she knew that Susan and Thaddius could take care of themselves. and waited for the deafening CRACK to take her into the treasure room. She fingered the snitch in her pocket. A wave of relief washed over her as her fingertips skimmed over the grooved metal. She hand't checked the whole time she was running. She had almost forgotten about it. But it was there, and that's all that mattered. In thirty seconds, it would all be over. She began to sing the first verse of the Hogwarts Hymn, but she had barely gotten through the first verse when the world around her shuddered with a premature CRACK and she fell through into the cave.

Looked like the Island wanted it over just as much as she did.

“OOMPH!” The sound escaped her without her permission. Hermione groaned for a moment, her hand going to her backside. “Ow!” She got up with a groan, moving her body to make sure nothing was broken. 

It was dark in the cave, save for the grey light coming from the opening of the cave. The opening the fell straight down the cliff face.

She turned to the other side of the cave, where.... the treasure chest was already out

_That's strange._

But she didn't think about it anymore, even though alarm clocks were going off in her brain. She pulled out her wand out of its small little sheath inside of her pants and waved a spell at it. The lock morphed back to its original shape, the imprint of the snitch darker than the rest of the chest. She stepped towards it.

“Consider me impressed.”

 Hermione whirled around and pointed her wand at the voice, almost tripping over the uneven ground in the process.

Blaise stepped out of the shadows and towards her. “Put it down, Granger.”

 Don't move or I'll hex you,” Hermione warned, her voice slightly unsteady.  _What is he doing here?_

“You won't do it,” he retorted.

Hermione thought it was great moment to ignore his comment and voice her previous thought. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”

Blaise smirked at Hermione. A loud crack of thunder sounded from outside, but that was all he needed to lunge at her and jerk her wand away from her. With a strong toss, he threw it out the opening of the cave.

The sound of metal scraping against a cover rang through the air. Blaise brandished his as well. With a dart, he positioned himself between her and the treasure chest.

“You don't have to do this,” Hermione told him, trying to reason with him.

“But I do,” Blaise said, stepping towards her

“Let me finish this Blaise. Please,” she entreated. 

Blaise rolled his eyes as his body fell into a fighting stance. His gaze returned from their trip over the moon and caught her wide, captious honey eyed one.

“Silly Hermione.” He clicked his tongue. “I'm loyal to my friends.”

Hermione opened her mouth. “But I am--”

“ _NOT_ my fancies.” 

And with that, he lunged.

“NOOOO!!!!” Came a savage yell from the opening of the cave.

Blaise froze. Hermione looked over his shoulder.

Ronald Weasley stood in the grey light. He threw the vine down onto the ground. “Do that again, Zabini. I dare you.” He strode towards them, sword brandished, glinting in the light. .”I'll stick this right up your ar--”

His voice was cut off by the sudden shuddering in the room. Hermione's heart almost lept out of her chest.

_Time's up._

Draco landed into a crouch. He rose slowly, looking at the three gleaming swords, the treasure chest, and then back at them. He coldly surveyed them. Then looked at Blaise. “I suppose 's not a party unless I pull mine out, too,” he said as he pulled out his sword.

Hermione almost snorted. Almost. 

Draco took a step towards her. “I see you lifted the spell, Granger.”

Hermione didn't reply.

Get away from her!” Ron warned, stepping almost comically towards the Slytherin.

“Or what? You'll stab Draco?” Blaise laughed, stepping towards Ron. “You couldn't get within scratching distance of him, even if you tried.”

 “Try me,” Ronald snarled at the black male. He kept his eyes on Hermione, though. He knew she had to win.

“I wouldn't try you, not even in a million years,” Draco said to Ron, not taking his eyes from Hermione's- searching them for that one moment of weakness, that moment where he could lunge, injure her badly enough- not so much as to kill her- but enough to take the resistance out of her so he could search her body for the snitch. He couldn't have her disappearing with the key. “Gross.” he added.

Ron rolled his eyes. “You know, you're so---”

 The ground shuddered again, throwing Ron to the ground. Hermione braced herself against a wall, as did Draco. Blaise had been through the shudder three times already, he brarely budged. Pansy landed on her feet, like a cat. She looked at the four people in the room and grinned. She grabbed the handle of her cutlass and whipped it out. “So, what'd I miss?”

It was in that second that Ron knew what he had to do. He and Hermione were outnumbered. It wasn't going to be easy. “Parkinson, I can see your.... breasts.” He wasn't the best at improvisation. But he knew where Blaise's eyes had gone, which is why the young man didn't see it coming when a cutlass bit sharply into his heart. His eyes widened momentarily, and without a word, a blue light filled the air.

 Ron pulled his cutlass from the disappearing blue ball, and whipped around at Pansy.  _Distract her._ Besides, he couldn't take on Malfoy. He knew it. He grinned at Pansy. “You didn't miss anything, Parkinson. In fact, you came just in time.”

 She saw him coming before he did, but she thought she would amuse him anyway. Perhaps she'd kill him. Perhaps she wouldn't. She was only here to make sure that Draco didn't kiss the Mudblood. If she won in the process, then perfect. No one would be the wiser.

She dodged Ron's cutlass with a smirk. “Try again.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

  Hermione didn't waste a second. She threw her body towards the treasure chest, but was yanked out of the air by a hand that had roughly grabbed her arm nearly out of her socket. “Not so fast, Granger.” Draco yanked her body his hard body, holding her other arm- the one with the cutlass- away from himself. His lips touched her ear. He could feel the shiver run down her spine. From fear? From …... something else? He stomped on his thoughts. “Hand over the snitch.”

  His heat enveloped her. A flush ran through her body. He breathed in her ear. Her head was tilting of its own accord, her neck, glistening from wet rain was screaming “kiss me!” A small moan escaped her lips.

Draco's breathing caught. He went ridgid. His grip tightened, fingers flexing into her arm.

Goosebumps rose up all over her body.

  _I can't take this anymore!_ She just couldn't. It was going to drive her nuts, this delirium. So she did what any other girl would do- she threw a tantrum and stomped on his foot.  _Hard._

 A gasp escaped his lips and into her ear, but his hold loosened just enough for her to slip out of his grasp, and away from his lips, with a hard tug. “Not a chance!” She yelled, flinging herself onto the chest hand fumbling into her pocket for the little metal ball.

 He was about to throw himself on top of her, to pin her down, immobilize her, ravage her, anything to get her not to get the snitch out of her pant pocket, really, but just before he did, he noticed her stricken face. The panicked expression was not lost on him.

Her cutlass clattered onto the floor.

 Confusion filled his veins.

 …..and that was when a sharp buzz passed his ear.

  _Merlin. It's the key._ Draco whirled around, seeker instincts taking over. He lunged into the air to grab the flying snitch, but was derailed from his path to victory by Hermione who jumped up with lightening speed, cutlass forgotten, and shoved passed him, almost plucking the snitch out of the air.

 Almost.

 Draco shover her out of the way, and right into Ronald. Pansy's blade was in midswing and had nowhere to go but down Hermione's back.

 A scream escaped her throat as white hot fire slashed down her back. She flung herself onto the wall. Tried to ignore the pain.  _Where is it!!!_ It flittered right in front of her face, but she couldn't move. The pain.....

Draco's eyes stopped flitting and focused on the back his screaming enemy. A red ribbon instantly formed on her wet shirt. The sight made his heart clench. The words began pushing themselves out of his mouth before he could stop them. _“_ Are you O--”

 The buzz whizzed by his ear again.  _Focus!_

 He whirled around, right into Pansy. He was righting himself off of her, just when Hermione pushed herself off of the wall and tumbled into them, her momentum pushing their stumbling bodies closer to the treasure chest. Thunder cracked, lightning flashed. The snitch glinted in the light.

 Pansy's eyes zeroed in on it. It was right behind him. Maybe winning wouldn't be so bad after all----

Ron had seen it just a split second before her, and finally everything clicked. He got ambitions and lunged towards it, momentarily forgetting that Draco, Hermione, and Pansy were somewhat in the way. All he could see was the snitch.

 What happened next was a blur.

With a yell, Ron lunged hard into Draco who in turned was pushed to knock over Pansy, who tripped over the treasure chest, but right before had managed to grab a fistful of Hermione's hair. 'You're coming down with me, bi--!” Grunt. Slash. Scream. Thud. Limbs, flailing.

The snitch flitted over the group that was tumbling to the ground and scrambling over the chest, when suddenly, a hand somehow pushed out of the fray, grabbed the snitch out of midair, and jammed it in the lock.

 Then, the world erupted into a flash of blue light.

 

* * *

Draco hit the ground,  _hard._ The sounds of more bodies thudding into the Great Hall filled his ears. He was disoriented for a moment, for just a moment. His eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight that filled the room. He held up a hand to shield his eyes anyway. _Turn it off._

The person who had landed next to him gasped. Hermione was sprawled out on the stone floor. Her hair was glinting in the sunlight. He almost wanted to touch. He was about to move the hand that he was propping himself with when he noticed----

Hermione shot up into a sitting position. She noticed him immediately. His grey eyes clashed with her brown ones. Her eyes shot down to her hands.

They were empty. Only a single glittering silver ring adorned one of her fingers. Her eyes filled with shock and dread.

And that was when he noticed the wriggling underneath the hand that he hadn't lifted off of the floor yet. His eye darted down to his hand. He stared at it, almost confused for a moment.

Draco didn't move. He couldn't.... He didn't.... The wriggling started again.

Suddenly, Hermione grabbed his wrist, yanking is hand up and off floor, unbalancing him and nearly causing him to fall over.

A blur of gold and silver flew into the air.

Neither one of the breathed, they just stared at each other. She didn't let go of his wrist, both of their arms in the air. She was holding on tightly. Too tightly. His fingers started to tingle.

The voices in the great hall got louder, people started getting up, but still, they didn't move, both in disbelief, both entranced by some moment that neither could deny. After that moment, everything would change. His eyes searched hers. He knew he should gloat. Should say something. But he couldn't. He tried to read her, but so many emotions were running through her face. He couldn't decipher one from the next.

He wanted to say something. But if he would, everything would---

His thoughts were cut off by a loud voice cutting through the hall, regards of Severus Snape, shocking them both into the very  _real_  reality.

“Congratulations, Draco Malfoy, the winner of the game!” 


	35. The Aftermath: Part I

Time was suspended. She heard Professor Snape's voice, the muttering around her growing louder, but she wasn't listening. The ground beneath her was cold, but she couldn't feel it. She noted movement in her peripherals, but she didn't register what was going on.   
  
   
  
Shock. Disbelief. She had been so careful. So sure.... She had almost won.   
  
   
  
But it didn't matter, because Hermione knew- almost didn't count.   
  
   
  
“Granger, I--”  
  
   
  
She raised a hand to shut him up, and broke his gaze. Draco had breached the silence first. Hermione would have noted that as interesting- he was never the first one to give up ground like that- but right now, she couldn't process it. Couldn't process anything at all.  
  
   
  
She had failed.   
  
   
  
Miserably. And now, she was sitting on her ass, gaping at him like a fool.   
  
   
  
“Well, well, well,  _Mudblood,”_ Pansy came up to the sitting pair, grinning wickedly from above them. She flicked her hair. Hermione's fingers itched towards her wand.  _Maybe, just this once, I'll burn it off. Just this--_  
  
   
  
But she was better than that. “Shut up, Parkinson,” she said softly.   
  
   
  
Pansy raised a brow. “My, my, looks like we have a sore loser.”   
  
   
  
Professor Snape rolled his eyes and walked away from the trio. “Dinner, at seven. You'll find your trunks in your dormitories.” With a swish of a cloak, he was gone.   
  
   
  
And then, pandemonium. Draco's team came up, hooting a hollering, as did most of the Slytherins. They picked him up of the ground, and hoisted him into the air, nearly trampling on Hermione. “Hey- caref--”   
  
   
  
Hermione was probably hallucinating. That couldn't have been--   
  
   
  
“Oi, shove it!” Ron said, pushing a smirking Slytherin out of the way. He squatted down to be eye level with Hermione. He grasped her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look up. She yanked her chin out of his grasp with a twist of her head.  
  
   
  
“Don't.” Hermione said. Ron barely heard it- it was scarcely a whisper.   
  
   
  
“Let's get her out of here,” Harry said to run, and grasped Hermione's upper arm. Ron got the other and they picked her up off of the floor. She was a shaking a little, they noticed, but they kept it to themselves.   
  
   
  
The cheers got louder and louder, someone started chanting “Draco! Draco! Draco!” Someone else his last name- until the Great Hall was echoing with his name.   
  
   
  
“Faster,” Harry said to Ron. They couldn't gracefully get her out together, so Ron stopped quickly, and picked her up. Harry went over and opened one of the side doors. Hermione put her arms around Ron's neck, and put her face into his shoulder.  
  
   
  
She wasn't going to cry. She made that promise to herself, but she didn't know when. She couldn't cry in front of anyone. She wasn't a sore loser.  
  
   
  
….they just couldn't see.  
  
   
  
The ring on her hand burned insistently. It was going to be a rough day, and crying wouldn't add anything to it. She still had too---  
  
   
  
She shuddered, thinking about it.   
  
   
  
“Cold?” Ron asked, picking up his pace just a little bit, trying to hurry her away from the chants that seemed to follow them like shadows through the halls of the castle.   
  
   
  
Hermione shook her head “no”.   
  
   
  
He didn't slow down anyway.   
  
   
  
Harry shook his head. How in the world. He didn't understand. It was a fluke. Had to be. In some way. But he knew it wasn't. The snitch had been his signet. He had to have deduced that only a seeker could have won the game. But he hadn't put the pieces together. He was surprised that Hermione hadn't put that together.  _But that's Hermione for you,_ a voice in his head responded.  _She likes to do it all by herself._  
  
   
  
He glanced at his female friend. “Did she pass out?” He asked.  
  
   
  
Ron looked up at Harry for a second. “I think so. She's a lot lighter than she used to be.”   
  
   
  
Harry looked again at Hermione, concern in his gaze. “This is going to be a mess,” Harry said as they reached the Fat Lady's portrait.   
  
   
  
“I'm going to kill that tosser,” Ron growled.   
  
   
  
“I beg your pardon!” The Fat Lady looked down at them, dressed up in her usual vomit of pink laces and frills. “That most certainly is  _not_  the password.” Her voiced cracked on the 'not'.   
  
   
  
“We missed you, too,” Harry said, sardonically. “And we don't have a password just yet. We've just been told to go to our dormitories and clean up for dinner.”   
  
   
  
“Why, that's preposterou--”  
  
   
  
“Listen, you've known us for _years._ It's not like we turned Slytherin overnight. Just let us in already,” Ron said. Hermione might be light, but Ron's arms were giving out a little bit.   
  
   
  
“What's the magic word?”   
  
   
  
Harry looked up at the Fat Lady, disbelief written all over his face. “Are you serious? You've _got_ to be joking.”   
  
   
  
The Fat Lady looked at them expectantly for a moment, and then realized that she was talking to teenage boys. “You lot are no fun at all!” The portrait swung open slowly, and the two males rushed through into the common room, trying to drown out the sounds of her high pitched voice making some sort of absurd comment about how men were more charming in her day and age.   
  
   
  
As if they cared.  
  
   
  
Ron gently lowered Hermione onto the couch.   
  
   
  
“We need to wake her,” Harry said to Ron. “She needs to get up to the dormitories before anyone else gets here.”   
  
   
  
Ron looked at Hermione's sleeping form. She looked exhausted, circles under her eyes, hair frazzled, her clothing torn and soggy. He didn't want to wake her, but he knew Harry was right.  _As per usual._    
  
   
  
Harry knelt down next to Hermione, and put his hand on her shoulder. “'Mione,” He said, shaking her a little bit. “Mione, you've got to--”  
  
   
  
Hermione suddenly shot up into a sitting position, nearly knocking heads with Harry. Her wild eyes assessed the room- it took her a moment to take in her surroundings. Her heart was beating out of her ears. She had passed out? She looked at Harry and Ron, both messes. “You guys need to get cleaned up,” she said to them and stepped up off of the couch.   
  
   
  
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance. “So do you,” Harry responded. “Are you going to be OK?”   
  
   
  
Hermione looked at Ron and then at Harry. She got up and started walking to the girls dormitories- they stared up after her. “I'll see you at dinner,” she said over her shoulder, before closing the door to them.   
  
   
  
She didn't know quite yet to answer that question.   
  
   
  
Ron and Harry were left alone, in the common room, more worried than they were before.  
  
   
  
   
  
~*^*~  
  
   
  
A hot shower.  
  
   
  
Mm.   
  
   
  
It was absolutely the most wonderful thing in the world, Draco decided. Especially for a cold-blooded man, such as himself. He massaged his shoulder, sud covered fingers sliding over the pale skin, and let out an audible sigh of pleasure.   
  
   
  
Heaven, absolute heaven.   
  
   
  
The second best thing was the silence that surrounded him in the shower. His fellow house mates decided to let him, as the victor, take his shower in peace.   
  
   
  
He probably would have hexed all of their mouths shut otherwise and  _then_  would have had his shower.   
  
   
  
 _Divine._  
  
   
  
He raked the shampoo through through his hair, enjoying the motion. He was trying so hard not to think. But try as he might, his thoughts just kept coming.   
  
   
  
He was still in disbelief. He had wanted to win, hell, he should have thought that was going to be the outcome.  
  
   
  
But she had been a step ahead of him the entire way. Literally.  
  
   
  
She should have won.  
  
   
  
He should have been proud of himself, happy for winning, his ego should have been rejoicing right now, doing victory dances and all sorts of other silly non-Slytherin things. Draco frowned.   
  
   
  
The fact that it came down to his seeker instincts irked him.   
  
   
  
Had she been a seeker, or had his reflexes, the win had been hers.  
  
   
  
He didn't care, really. He won, and that's all that mattered.   
  
   
  
He tried to block her wide disbelieving stare out of his mind.   
  
   
  
There, gone.   
  
   
  
He simply stood underneath the pouring waterfall.   
  
   
  
Damn it.  
  
   
  
The image crept back into his mind.   
  
   
  
His mouth lifted into a snarl.  
  
   
  
This was ridiculous. All this, over one girl who didn't win.   
  
   
  
He took the sponge and finished up the job, no longer enjoying the water running down his back. It was too hot and he was too lazy to turn it onto cold. He left the water running as he stepped out onto the cold stones, wrapped a towel around his trim waist and went to stand in front of the mirror. This was ridiculous. Something had to have been wrong with his brain.   
  
   
  
He looked fine. Well, he looked more than fine, he was a quite handsome, he knew this. He leaned closer and looked into his reflection- into his own eyes, for a sign of madness.  
  
   
  
Nothing.   
  
   
  
He stayed there for a moment, searching, then leaned away from the mirror.   
  
   
  
He wasn't crazy. He was the winner!   
  
   
  
He slammed the sink with an open palm.   
  
   
  
 _Bloody hell._  
  
   
  
“This is ridiculous.”   
  
   
  
He glared at himself, and walked out of the shower door, letting the next boy in, ignoring all of the others waiting for him outside like paparazzi. No one said a word- they stood there like gargoyles, carved out of the Slytherin hall stones. His glare had frozen them.   
  
   
  
He strode right by them and into the dormitories, slamming the door behind him.   
  
   
  
 _Ridiculous._  
  
   
  
 _~* ^ *~_  
  
   
  
Ginny stormed into the common room. She was not happy. Not happy at all. Hermione had to be there. She didn't care at the moment that the girl had lost everything she had worked for for the past five months or so. She had played dirty, and she was going to get her fill.   
  
   
  
She stomped up the stairs, red hair flying behind her. She yanked open the door to the dormitories and then went up to Hermione's floor.   
  
   
  
But when she walked in, what she saw stopped her cold. Her prepared speech flew out of her brain.   
  
   
  
Hermione was sitting on the floor, still in her pirate garb, tears streaked down her face, staring dazedly at an oddly spiraled ring around her finger.   
  
   
  
“Hermione?”   
  
   
  
The curly haired friend didn't respond- just kept staring at her hand.   
  
   
  
Ginny approached   
  
   
  
“Hermione.”   
  
   
  
No response.  
  
   
  
“Hermione, are you listening?”   
  
   
  
“Hmmm?” Hermione responded, not moving.   
  
   
  
“We have to go to the Great Hall soon, dinner is in an hour and a half.”  
  
   
  
Hermione continued looking at her ring. She already knew that information. The ring glinted at her as she moved it in the light. It was almost uncomfortably warm.   
  
   
  
She knew what she had to do. She just couldn't believe it. Any of it. But she was a Gryffindor. And she kept her promises- she payed up to her debts, always. It would all pass. If she treated it as a really bad joke, maybe it would't be real.   
  
   
  
The bed creaked a little as she sat up and looked at Ginny. “Don't you have anything else to say to me?”  
  
   
  
Ginny's looked into her friend's face. Another day. “I did, but...... it's not important right now.”   
  
   
  
She wanted to yell and stomp and rant. But this was something else. She'd never seen Hermione like this. She didn't know what was going on in her brain, but ….. Now wasn't the time for tantrums.  
  
   
  
The game had changed people, obviously. Ginny just made an extremely mature act.   
  
   
  
“I'm sure,” Hermione assured Ginny. She stepped up, using the bed as a crutch. “I just need to take a shower.”   
  
   
  
She didn't look up at the red head as she got up and headed towards the showers. She almost couldn't deal with the repercussions of what she did to her. How she betrayed Ginny's trust. It was unthinkable.  
  
   
  
It seemed that the game had changed Hermione also. Undermined her true self. Hermione wasn't sure she was the ruthless woman she played in the game.  
  
   
  
But maybe that was exactly who she was.   
  
   
  
Hermione gritted her teeth as she ripped off the remnants of her clothing and turned the water onto the hottest setting. She hissed as the water scalded her skin.  
  
   
  
It was time to wake up. Time to make a game plan.   
  
   
  
Because as much as she'd like to think so, she knew- that the game wasn't over, at least for her. She wasn't going to play to any of their whims they way that they wanted her to.   
  
  
Draco might have won the game, but that doesn't mean that Hermione was going to bow down to him. He had manipulated her emotions during the game. She was furious. She had been played like a spade on a poker table. It wouldn't happen again. She was not a woman to be messed around with. She just had to remind him of that. He was scared of her for a reason.   
  
   
  
She glared at the ring on her finger. Pansy won that bet, too- what made her take the Slytherin girl's bet she had no idea, she had gotten too arrogant it seemed, in a moment of ill judgement. She knew she had to humiliate herself in front of everyone.   
  
   
  
If she was going to do it, she was going to do it with a bang.   
  
   
  
The wheels were turning in her brain, she knew what she was going to do, and how she was going to do it, but first she had to get her hands on one thing....   
  
   
  
She hopped out of the shower, the water turned itself off. Steam was rising off of her skin- she wiped it off with a towel. She wrapped the rest of her unruly hair in a turban, wrapped another white fluffy towel around herself and stepped into the girls rooms.   
  
   
  
Hermione walked over to her bed, pulled on some underwear, snapped her black bra into place, donned a pair of jeans and a maroon hoodie, took off the turban, mussed around with her hair, making sure she was a bit presentable at least, and walked out the door- ignoring anyone that was staring at her. The slam of wood hitting frame jolted most of the onlookers, waking them from their trance.  
  
   
  
It was showtime, and she was going to be a star.   
  
   
  
~*~*~  
  
   
  
Pansy was besides herself with excitement. She was about to get to watch the Mudblood's absolute humiliation, and the best part was, that she wasn't going to have to lift a perfectly manicured (thank  _Merlin_ ) pinky in the process. She would simply get to sit back, relax, and enjoy.   
  
   
  
She ran her french manicured talons through her perfectly straight hair. She even smelled cleaned, her perfume a shot of elegance. Her black slacks and dark green button up screamed of money, and she wouldn't have it any other way.   
  
   
  
She was back in silk and she could have died happy right then and there.   
  
   
  
Well, almost happy. Once the Mudblood humiliated herself completely, then she could die happy.  
  
   
  
Pansy popped some gloss onto her lips and grinned at Raven, who was staring at her from across the room. “Like something you see?” she asked.   
  
   
  
Raven stared for just a second too long. Pansy winked and sent a blow kiss her way.  _Maybe later,_  she thought. For the moment, she had a show to attend to.   
  
   
  
And how could she ever forget her new redhead boy-toy. She would have to dump him, she realized. Couldn't have Draco knowing about that.   
  
   
  
Or maybe she would keep him around. To humiliate him.   
  
   
  
It was final. Pansy Parkinson was in control of everything. She was queen again.  
  
   
  
And man, did it feel good.   
  
   
  
*~*~*   
  
   
  
“You're joking. Tell me, you're joking,” Harry demanded, looking at Ron in disbelief.   
  
   
  
Ron simply hung his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. “Nope. 'Fraid not.”   
  
   
  
Harry slumped back into the bed. “Wow.”  
  
   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
   
  
“Do you know what you're going to do about her?”   
  
   
  
Ron sat up. “She's going to humiliate me. You know she is. Pureblood traitor at her beck and call.”   
  
   
  
The fact of the matter was, Pansy never gave Ron enough credit. He was definitely on her level. He could call her every move. If he believed in himself fully, maybe he could make a decent counter attack. He might not be able to play the game completely as well as she could, but--  
  
   
  
“Do you want that to happen?” Harry asked. “Do you honestly want to keep her around.”  
  
   
  
It wasn't a question. Harry was expecting a “no” from his friend.   
  
   
  
The answer took too long in coming.  
  
   
  
“Bloody hell.”  
  
   
  
Ron looked up at Harry. “I agree.”  
  
   
  
“So--”  
  
   
  
“So.”   
  
   
  
Harry glanced over at his friend. “You don't have to let her get the best of you, you know. She plays the game well, but--”  
  
   
  
“But what? She's meticulous. Doesn't leave hardly anything to chance. I thought she was a, pardon the pun, a complete pansy before the Game. And now? Now she's scary as all hell. Maybe if we were playing a chess game, I might have a--”  
  
   
  
“That's it!” Harry exclaimed, sitting up in the bed, looking down at his distraught friend. “Treat it like a chess game!”   
  
   
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “There's no board. No players. This isn't the same at all!”   
  
   
  
“Yes, it is!” Harry said, face animated. It was nice not to think of his own problems. He still had to deal with Ginny. And Hermione. When either of them were ready to stop being absolutely scary, he would deal with it. He crossed his fingers and hoped that time would be long in coming. “All you need to do is anticipate her move, and play against it.”   
  
   
  
“Harry. You don't understand. You think Voldemort was unstoppable. You think he was evil. You don't know Pansy Parkinson like I do.”   
  
   
  
“And that's a problem because?”  
  
   
  
“Because she's an absolutely crazy bint!”  
  
   
  
“And you're absolutely crazy for said bint.”  
  
   
  
“That's not the point!”  
  
   
  
“Oh, it's not? Then what, pray tell, Ronald, is?”  
  
   
  
Ron narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “There is no point. I don't want her to make a fool out of me.”  
  
   
  
“Then don't let her.”  
  
   
  
“It's not that easy.”  
  
   
  
“Ron.”  
  
   
  
“Harry.”  
  
   
  
“Ron.”  
  
   
  
“Harry.”  
  
   
  
The two stopped and stared at each other for a moment. Harry grinned. “You just have to play her. Come on, they play us all the time. She needs this as much as you do.”  
  
   
  
Ron sighed. “I feel like taking girl advice from you is a bad idea.”  
  
   
  
“What do you have to lose?”  
  
   
  
Ron glared at him.   
  
   
  
“Ok, so maybe that wasn't the best question to ask. But listen. Just ignore her. Be the Alpha male she's not expecting--”  
  
   
  
“Hey! I'm an A--”  
  
   
  
“And it'll throw her for a loop.”  
  
   
  
Ron glared at Harry again. “That sounds like a.....” Realization dawned on his face. “Actually. That's not bad. Minus the me not being an Alpha male part. But maybe I will ignore her. I'm not her dog. I can do what I want. I can piss where I want! I can eat what I want! I can--”  
  
   
  
“Ok, Ron, I got it,” Harry shifted almost uncomfortably. Men pissed wherever they wanted to. Hearing it said was a different matter all together. “So, plan?”  
  
   
  
Ron looked at him with a grin. “Plan.”  
  
Maybe it would work. Maybe it wouldn't.   
  
   
  
Well, as a plan, Ron guessed it was better than anything. And when the two walked out the door, an observer could swear that he had an extra bounce in his step.  
  
   
  
*~*~*  
  
   
  
Thaddius and Blaise ran into each other in the corridor. How that happened, neither of them had any clue. It was supposed to be downright impossible, given the location of their common rooms. Neither of them said anything.   
  
   
  
The tension grew as they approached the massive wooden doors of the Great Hall. Thaddius thought he heard one of Blaise's knuckles crack. Actually, he did hear it crack. It scared the hell out of him. He felt a muscle tick in his jaw, but made no comment. His teeth were pushing against each other so hard, he wasn't sure he could open his mouth to say anything to the Slytherin.   
  
   
  
Blaise wasn't good enough for Susan. Hell, Thaddius knew that he himself wasn't good enough for Susan, but he was better than Blaise. He was the lesser of the two evils.  
  
   
  
If only girls didn't think that they could change men, fix them.... He'd be in the clear. He was obviously the better choice.   
  
   
  
But he didn't say it out loud. That was the sure-fire way to lose the girl. And he didn't want to do that.   
  
   
  
So he remained silent.   
  
   
  
Blaise could practically read Thaddius's mind. If anything, he agreed. He knew he wasn't the choice to make.   
  
   
  
But that didn't mean that he was going to give up.   
  
   
  
Susan had a choice to make.   
  
   
  
And she had better make it fast, or else fists were going to fly, and she wasn't going to like it.   
  
   
  
*~*~*   
  
   
  
Draco, as per usually, was exactly on time. He walked through the doors and was greeted by an uproar from the Slytherins that were scattered around the room. He smirked at them, refused the silly urge to bow and headed over to the traditional Slytherin section of the Hall. He sat in his seat, Blaise came to sit on his left, Pansy slithered in onto his right.   
  
   
  
“We're in for a show, tonight, boys,” She said with a menacing smile. Draco didn't ask, although his curiosity was slightly peaked. Pansy usually made good on her promises- all of those outside of a bed, anyway.   
  
   
  
Blaise remained oddly silent beside him. He glanced at his friend, and saw anger written all over his face. It almost made him want to shy away. But Draco was no longer a coward. He was the victor. He was afraid of nothing at this point in time.   
  
   
  
There was no one out there trying to kill him.  
  
   
  
 _Speaking of, where is she anyway?_  
  
   
  
His eyes flicked over the people gathering in the room, illuminated by the thousands of candles hovering in the air, and in less than half a minute, he realized that she wasn't among the colorful crowd. Most people had donned their house colors, though, unsurprisingly. He scanned the crowd again, but came up negative.   
  
   
  
Well, that just wouldn't do. She had to be here. She just had to. Maybe that was---nope. Not her.   
  
   
  
His fingers curled into a fist without him realizing it.   
  
   
  
He didn't know why he wanted her there.   
  
   
  
He just wanted to see her squirm under his victory, that must have been it. He told himself he just wanted to rub it in a little more.  
  
   
  
Yes. That was most certainly the case. He was merely annoyed, that was all.   
  
   
  
And that was when Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley walked in together, easy smiles on their faces.  
  
   
  
Yes, he was most certainly annoyed. Pansy suddenly went still beside him.   
  
   
  
 _Well, that was curious indeed._  
  
   
  
He didn't have much time to elaborate more on the thought. Professor McGonagall swept through the doors with an aura of command, and gradually a hush took over the Great Hall. The doors shut with a slight thud behind her.   
  
   
  
She went up to the podium that Professor Dumbledore had spoken at many times, and smiled down at them. “Welcome back, students. Congratulations, on finishing the Game!”   
  
   
  
She began clapping, and the whole room erupted into cheers. “Congratulations, secondly, to our winner, Mr. Malfoy.”   
  
   
  
The room again erupted in applause, hearty cheers, maybe a boo or two, but they were drowned out by the lively screaming, hooting and hollering. Draco stood up, and the audience kicked it up a notch.   
  
   
  
Professor McGonagall continued. “In a close second, came Ms. Granger.”   
  
   
  
Boo's from the Slytherins, cheers from everyone else. The applause and yelling started quieting down though, as people realized that the fierce Gryffindor wasn't amongst them. Some people started looking around, craning their necks to look over neighbors.  
  
   
  
Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed. “Ms. Granger?” Her question ventured over the heads of the students trying to answer that question also.  
  
   
  
They didn't have to wait long.   
  
   
  
The doors to the Great Hall swung open slowly. Draco leaned forward, like everyone else.   
  
   
  
Hermione waltzed into the room clumsily and grinned to them, one hand catching the door to hold her balance, the other twirling an empty bottle. She winked at Headmistress, then bowed to the students. On her way out of the sloppy bow, her husky voice carried over the crowd. “You called?”  
  
   
  
Her words slurred together as if her speaking became cursive. Shock rippled over the student body, as they realized.....  
  
   
  
Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her year, woman who stood by the Boy Who Lived in the Final Battle, the perfect model for just about everything, was completely, absolutely, undeniably  _drunk._


	36. Finally

Professor McGonagall stood alone in the late Professor Dumbledore's office, her hands flat on the desk. She looked around the empty room. She sat down in the desk and put her head in her hands. “It didn't work,” She muttered into the air. She shook her head, lifting it from her hands.  
  
   
  
“Did you hear me, Albus. It didn't work!”  
  
   
  
She was frustrated. The scene that had just occurred in the Great Hall was absurd, in the highest form. It was an outrage. To be honest, the Headmistress didn't know where to go from here. She saw the bonding happening on the lower levels, but  _this._  
  
   
  
They were the role-models for the school, and they just ruined the entire experiment.  
  
   
  
“I don't know what you were thinking, Albus. But it didn't work. It didn't do what you thought it would.”  
  
   
  
“Albus isn't a fool,” Professor Snape stepped out of the shadows. “This isn't the end of it.”  
  
   
  
“You saw what happened down there,” Minerva replied. “You heard her. She called herself a--”  
  
   
  
“You don't have to repeat it.” Professor Snape walked up to the desk and rested his fingers on the dark wood. “This isn't the end of it.”  
  
   
  
Minerva stood up, glaring at him. “It certainly looked like it. I don't even know what to do with her. She isn't anywhere to be found.”  
  
   
  
“She'll show up tomorrow; we'll deal with it then.”  
  
   
  
“Drinking in front of the students, degrading herself like that......” Her voice trailed off.  
  
   
  
“We'll deal with it tomorrow,” he said, voice tired. But each word was perfectly enunciated anyway.  
  
   
  
“That we will,” Minerva replied.  
  
   
  
He returned her curt nod as she walked by him. “Goodnight, Minerva.”  
  
   
  
“Goodnight, Severus.”  
  
   
  
The door closed behind her.  
  
   
  
Severus looked up at the frozen portrait of the headmaster. His lip quirked up, but just a touch. “What were you thinking.”  
  
   
  
There was no answer.  
  
   
  
With a shake of his head, he leaned off of the desk, and swept out of the room, cloak billowing behind him.  
  
   
  
~*~*~  
  
 _Earlier_  
  
 _~*~*~_  
  
It was a spectacle. No one was more surprised than, well, everyone.  
  
   
  
The shock written on the Headmistress's face was one of the highlights of the whole scandal. “Miss Granger, I---”  
  
   
  
Hermione's drunken laugh cut Professor McGonagall off. “It's just a drop of liquor, Headmistress, nothing to worry about.”  
  
   
  
“Miss Grang--”  
  
   
  
Hermione simply plowed through Professor McGonagall's interjection. “Now, if you'll all listen up, I have a couple things to say, then you can go about'ch your business.”  
  
   
  
The hall simmered down, although the whispers didn't stop. Hermione waltzed up to the nearest table, and with a loud thud, she slammed the bottle down, then hopped up onto the bench. She plopped her behind down onto the table, and crossed her legs. With a lazy grin, she surveyed the crowed, and muttered under her breath, “Where is he, where is he, where is he....”  
  
   
  
Her eyes flit around, not catching anyone's gaze, until she saw the familiar blonde, the speculative, the ice cold grey. “And there's our winner.”  
  
   
  
“Miss Granger, I really do insist---”  
  
   
  
But Hermione wasn't listening.  
  
   
  
She held her hand up. “I only have one thing to say,” she said with a silly grin on her face. “I just wanted to congratulate Mister Malfoy on his win.”  
  
   
  
The mummers in the crowd grew. Confusion. Skepticism.  
  
   
  
“After all,” Hermione continued, looking him right in the eye, “Everyone knows that I'm just a filthy little Mudblood,” the word rolled off of her tongue- she didn't even wince, “and I'm not as good as he is. I just wanted everyone to know,” She broke the stare, not caring about the small amount of shock and anger that flitted through his expression and opened her arms to everyone in the room, “That that is reason why I failed to win.”  
  
   
  
Silence.  
  
   
  
It was so loud. Everyone's ears were pounded with it. Deafening silence.  
  
   
  
Hermione looked at the stunned student body, the agog Headmistress, the perplexed Professor Snape, who noticed that after her confession, she didn't look at Malfoy, Harry, or any of her friends.  _Interesting._  
  
   
  
After a few heartbeats, Hermione grabbed her bottle, and with a grin, she said “Goodnight folks, enjoy your feast!”  
  
   
  
And she waltzed drunkenly out the door, whistling, leaving nothing but open mouthed students and wide stares.  
  
   
  
The life of the party, she was.  
  
   
  
Once her whistle faded, the words that filled the Great Hall were infinite. Even Professor McGonagall didn't try to bring everyone under control.  
  
   
  
It was a disaster.  
  
   
  
Draco watched as Harry and Ron immediately got up out of their seats and bolted out of the room.  
  
   
  
Pansy grinned over at Draco, putting her hand on arm, smoothing out the already smoothed sleeve. “Well, that was certainly entertaining.”  
  
   
  
But Draco wasn't smiling. Pansy's brow raised. “Isn't this what you wanted, Draco? You're the winner!Granger conceded, it's a win-win situation.”  
  
   
  
Draco looked at the closed doors, then back at Pansy. Something wasn't right. His eyes bored into hers. “Did you orchestrate this?”  
  
   
  
Green eyes clashed with grey, neither giving anything away.  
  
   
  
After a moment of silence, Draco pushed past Pansy towards the doors of the Great Hall. Pansy grabbed his shoulder. “Where are you going, Draco?”  
  
   
  
Draco turned his head slowly to face her. “I don't explain myself to anyone, that includes you.” He stared at her for a moment, until she let her hand fall.  
  
   
  
Food started popping up on the tables in a desperate attempt to distract the students from the insanity that just occurred, but Draco didn't care. He turned away from Pansy and walked straight the doors, ignoring all the people congratulating him or staring at him in confusion.  
  
   
  
He slipped through the doors and into the dark, torchlit hallways of the castle. He looked left, then right, but there was no sign of Hermione.  
  
   
  
 _Where could she be._  He thought to himself. But then he realized, that while he may have known where a sober Hermione Granger would hide, he had no idea where a drunk one would go.  
  
   
  
Absolutely no earthly idea.  
  
   
  
 _Damn, Damn, Damn._  
  
   
  
He would have to start from scratch.  
  
   
  
And what better way to get someone's attention than to yell at them.  
  
   
  
“GRANGER” he bellowed into the empty halls. He listened for a moment as his voice echoed off the stone walls. He gave her a second to respond, but just as he expected, there was not a sound.  
  
   
  
He would have thought that maybe he would have heard her stumbling around, cackling, but then Draco realized that he had no idea what a drunk Hermione Granger would be like, period.  
  
   
  
It was a mess, he was sure.  
  
   
  
He looked at the ground for maybe a drop of liquor or two, but there was nothing, nothing at all.  
  
   
  
His brow furrowed.  _Where would a drunk Granger_   _even go?_  He thought.  
  
   
  
 _No idea._  
  
   
  
His fists clenched. Well, he would just have to search, he supposed. Searched until he found her and could shake the truth out of her. It was an unnecessary display, one that he should have relished but didn't. It was disgusting.  
  
   
  
But wait. He would never search for her. That wasn't him. It didn't matter. She didn't matter.  
  
   
  
So he turned around.  
  
   
  
He would let Potter and the Weasel find her. Then, he would shake it out of her.  
  
   
  
He would get his explanation, Granger willing or not.  
  
\- - - - - -  
  
   
  
Hermione knew they would come looking for her. She just knew they would.  
  
   
  
So she did what she did best- be unpredictable. She walked to the Quidditch field. Maybe she would even grab a broom and fly around on it, be daring.  
  
   
  
Well, maybe not. She wasn't drunk, after all.  
  
   
  
The grass crunched under her feet until she came to a stop smack dab in the middle of the unsanded Quidditch field.  
  
   
  
She lay back on the grass, and closed her eyes, only to then open them to look at the countless stars above her.  
  
   
  
She loved stars. They were real both in the muggle and in the wizarding world, and they were beautiful.  
  
   
  
She fell asleep staring at the stars.  
  
   
  
And then woke up to the ceiling of the Hospital Wing.  
  
   
  
Life was a real bitch sometimes.  
  
   
  
~*~*~*  
  
   
  
“She's not crazy,” the nurse told Professor McGonagall, “But she is extremely exhausted. Her friends can come see her, but for now, I think it would be OK to just say she's had a breakdown.”  
  
   
  
Professor McGonagall took the nurses's hand into her own, “Thank you, Madame Pomfrey,” she said, as she looked at the bed that Hermione was propped up in, lost in her own dream world, reading a book.  
  
   
  
She turned and walked quietly out of the Wing. Now was not the time to chastise her, although there was no doubt that there was a chastisement coming! More was expected from the smart lady, and the Professor would make sure to that.  
  
   
  
But for now, the girl needed rest.  
  
   
  
“Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasely,” she said, as she passed the dynamic duo in the hall.  
  
   
  
“Professor,” the both replied in unison as they hurried down the hall.  
  
   
  
A small knowing smile crossed her lips.  
  
   
  
Friendship was a beautiful, beautiful thing.  
  
   
  
Chaos, however, was not.  
  
   
  
But for now......  
  
   
  
She would tolerate it, for now.  
  
   
  
~*~*~*  
  
   
  
Draco tapped his long fingers in succession on the wooden table in the library,  _tap, tap, tap,_ one after the other, brow furrowed in concentration. Classes hadn't resumed yet, but he wanted to brush up on some research and spells.  
  
   
  
At least, that's the excuse he was prepared to give anyone who asked him what he was doing in the restricted section. Really, he was just doing his damnedest not to die from boredom. He had heard nothing about his muggle witch yet, and frankly, life after the game was about as mundane as rain on a rainy day.  
  
   
  
It couldn't get much worse.  
  
   
  
He had his eyes and ears about the school, someone would report to him eventually.  
  
   
  
“I heard you were in here.”  
  
   
  
The over-produced sultry voice was not anything close to what his ears wanted to hear at that second. He didn't move a muscle, didn't even flinch. “What is it, Pansy.” He didn't even bother to add any sort of inflection to the words.  
  
   
  
“I just thought you might be interested in some information.”  
  
   
  
Draco didn't respond.  
  
   
  
Pansy narrowed her eyes at the blonde, surveying his perfectly lithe form. She would be lying if she said that she still wasn't attracted to him. Looking at him sent a jolt of heat right through her bones. But she knew him too well. “Potter and the Weasel were just seen hurrying to the hospital wing. Rumour has it the Mudblood-”  
  
   
  
Draco's eyes narrowed a fraction.  
  
   
  
“- has gone loonier than Loony Lovegood.” She sat next to him, walking her fingers up his arm. “No one knows for sure, but that's the rumor.”  
  
   
  
“Is that it?” Draco asked, turning to her. “That's all?”  
  
   
  
“Isn't that what you wanted to know?” her eyes pierced right into his. “Isn't she all that you're thinking about?”  
  
   
  
Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “I thought I made myself understood before,” he cocked his head. “I don't have to explain myself.”  
  
   
  
He twisted his body out of the bench and strode out of the door.  
  
   
  
Pansy didn't want to believe it. She couldn't.  
  
   
  
Draco had the hots the muggle. She was stunned. Floored.  
  
   
  
And yet......she had the hots for Ronald Weasley.  
  
   
  
So maybe Draco having the hots for the Mudblood wasn't so bad.  
  
   
  
Who was she kidding, that was tragic. But she wasn't going to fight him about it. They would never work out, anyway.  
  
   
  
The Other Side was only good for sexual favors, and that's how she planned to keep it.  
  
   
  
Poor Ronald didn't get that yet, but it didn't matter.  
  
   
  
He liked it. She had him, hook line and sinker.  
  
   
  
And that was the way she liked it.  
  
   
  
~*~*~*  
  
   
  
Lying was easy, Hermione found. She couldn't tell anyone about the Pansy bet, anyway, so why not let the world think she just had a mental break down, couldn't take losing, coming in second, etc, etc, and so forth. Something more interesting would happen in a week or two and it would all blow over.  
  
   
  
So saying “I'm not really sure what happened to me” to her closest friends didn't hurt so bad. In fact, it was relief, hiding behind the lie. She wouldn't have to own up to any of it. She would have to own up to the fact that she couldn't stand that she lost, that she had gotten a little game crazy, that she had changed and she wasn't sure why, and on top of that Dr---  
  
   
  
Nope. She wasn't even going there. “I'll be fine, really,” Hermione assured Harry and Ron, smiling lightly at them. “It's not a big deal. I probably just caught too much sun.”  
  
   
  
And the excuse placated them. They would never guess. For the next half hour or so, they swapped stories about their adventures, and yet, they all kept their secrets. Minus Harry, of course, he had none.  
  
Ron didn't say anything about Pansy, and Hermione said nothing about...... Anyway.  
  
   
  
In fact, they didn't bring him up the whole conversation, which Hermione was grateful for. She was sure they did it on purpose, but at least they didn't treat her like a crazy who would crack at the sound of his very name.  
  
   
  
“Alright, boys, visiting is over,” Madame Pomfrey said, “Hermione needs her rest.”  
  
   
  
Hermione refused the strong urge to roll her eyes. As her best friends reluctantly got up to go, she smiled up at them, “Don't worry, you'll probably see me at dinner.”  
  
   
  
Ronald kissed her on the forehead and Harry squeezed her hand in return. They walked out of the wing, and she was left alone again, with a book she had already read three times. Madame Finch asked her if she wanted anything else, but Hermione kindly declined. With a nod, Madame left her in the room on her own.  
  
   
  
She got up out of the bed and pulled the separating covers around her bed. If she was going to be alone, she was going to do it right. She picked up her wand from the table side next to the bed, and put a silencing spell around it. They didn't think she was crazy enough to confiscate her wand. They just needed to isolate her. And to be honest, she didn't mind.  
  
   
  
She climbed back into the bed. A little TLC, is all she needed. That, and some Back Street Boys, but this would have to do. This silence and the ruddy book that she had already basically memorized.  
  
   
  
She closed her eyes,  _Ah. Rest._  
  
   
  
A thud on her nightstand made her eyes pop back open. She scrambled into a sitting position. “Thought I'd bring you a new one. You've probably read that twice by now,” Draco said, eyes flitting over the book at the edge of her bed, and then, up to her face.  
  
   
  
Inscrutable. That's how she would always interpret his gaze. Sometimes it was hot, sometimes it was cold, but she could never really see through that impassable grey.  
  
   
  
“Three times, actually.”  
  
   
  
Draco sat down in the wooden chair in the corner of Hermione's quarantine.  
  
   
  
She looked better, he noted. She didn't look as crazy. A pity. Crazy, he could deal with. He wasn't quite sure to proceed with the situation, to be honest. She was looking at him warily, he could read her eyes like an open book. He knew what she looked like when she was happy, sad, relieved, angry, lusting, it was all there, in the golden flecks of her eyes.  
  
   
  
“Even worse.”  
  
   
  
He didn't offer anything else. He had broken the ice, now it was her turn to fess up. Or question. Or explain, actually. Explain would be great.  
  
   
  
“What are you doing here.”  
  
   
  
“You tell me.”  
  
   
  
“I didn't ask you to be here.”  
  
   
  
“Didn't you?”  
  
   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What do you want, Malfoy.” It rolled off of her lips like morning dew. It felt so good to say it. To hear it. Everyone was avoiding it like the plague. But there it was. She hated that she loved the way it felt.  
  
   
  
It was time to come to terms with that. She would get over it, eventually. So she was a little crazy, wasn't everyone?  
  
   
  
“Tell me.”  
  
   
  
She knew what he wanted. Hermione sighed. “Why do you need to know.”  
  
   
  
It wasn't a question. He knew that. Draco sat there silently for a second, steepling his fingers. He leaned forward. “Amuse me.”  
  
   
  
And she snapped. Her eyes instantly sparked into caramel fire.  _Amuse him, eh?_  That wasn't her job, and yet she was his jester and butler at the same time. Being a fool and doing his work for him. She wont the game for him, the ass. And now, now he asked her to  _amuse_  him?! He couldn't have insulted her anymore that he already had. “Get out, Malfoy.”  
  
   
  
“Grang--”  
  
   
  
“Get. Out.” Hermione hissed, pointing to the slit in the curtain. “Don't make me say it again.” Her eyes drove straight into his grey ones, showing absolutely no mercy.  
  
   
  
Draco's face showed no emotion except for a strange kind of intenseness. He leaned forward just a bit more, elbows on his knees. Thirty seconds passed by, their eyes not wavering from each other. Just as she was working up the nerve to get up and shove him out, his lips moved, ever so slightly.  
  
   
  
“No.”  
  
   
  
Neither of them moved. The air was charged with static electricity. She could feel the hairs on her arms raise. His hot blue eyes were staring into hers, and suddenly, with a fast motion he stood out of the chair, and stepped over her, putting his hands on either side of the grates of headboard. His nose was just a second from hers. She leaned back into the cold metal, but it made no difference. He only leaned in closer, faces so close. Hermione could smell his cologne. It was sharp, invading her senses. “Get away from me!” The words flew out of her lips unbidden.  
  
   
  
Her blood was screaming  _come closer._  
  
   
  
Her back pressed harder into the metal. She was surrounded by him, she couldn't get out. Her body was getting warm. “Malfoy, I'm warning you.” She said, her eyes skitting from one of his eyes to the other.  
  
   
  
“Granger,” He retorted, lips moving the air in the very scant space that between their faces, “I'm warning  _you._ You're going to tell me what I want to know, Granger,” his nose touched hers, “and you're going to tell me --”  
  
   
  
But he didn't get to finish, because Hermione just couldn't stand it anymore. The fire coarsening through her veins. She slapped him. Slapped him hard. His face instantly snapped to the side, a red handprint coloring his skin.  
  
   
  
After a couple seconds, he slowly turned his face back to hers, and when his eyes met hers that time, they were all fire.  
  
   
  
And that was when he snapped. That fire consumed him. The anger, the confusion, the lust, all of it, focused right on the woman in front of him, staring back at him with the same anger.  
  
   
  
And in that moment, nothing could be explained, nothing needed to be explained. It just  _was._  
  
   
  
And with that realization, his hand shot out instinctively around the back of her neck, and he pulled her roughly towards him, and then, then, the he let the fire consuming him consume her, too. His perfectly white teeth bit harshly into her soft bottom lip, causing her to gasp, and she, too, was lost.  
  
   
  
He pulled her up out of the bed and slammed her into the wall. Her hands went up around his neck and into his perfectly sleeked blond hair, curling into the strands as his hands kneaded her lips, fingertips biting into her hospital gown.  
  
   
  
And it felt great. He pushed her further into the cold stone blocks, and she pushed her body back up into his. He wasn't letting her breath, ever kiss was ferocious, and invasion of all of her senses, Just when her knees were going weak and she thought that she was going to pass out from being so overwhelmed by him, he moved down into the soft column of her neck.  
  
   
  
For a second, he paused, lips hovering right over her pulse, listening to her pant for breath. Goosebumps covered her entire body for that second. Just as she almost regained her senses, He squeezed one hip tight, the other running up the side of her body to the space right underneath her breast, causing a breath to escape her mouth again, and he started necking her as if she was the only thing he wanted right at that moment.  
  
   
  
Their bodies pushed even tighter, he could feel her going weaker from the pleasure, and for that moment, he didn't care about anything except the heady, hot feeling coursing through his veins and making sure that she damn well felt it, too.  
  
   
  
Hermione was lost in the sensation of Draco Malfoy's lips on her neck. Her  _neck._  He was going to leave her a hickey, but she didn't care. She leaned her head to the opposite direction to give him an easier access. She wanted more, but wasn't sure she could take it. And that's when she felt his bare fingers on her naked lower thigh, right underneath the hem of her dress.  
  
   
  
They both froze, as if they had come to some line. He came up from her neck and looked at her, eyes searching hers, panting just as much as her. His hand gripped her thigh, fingers pressing into the skin, and then he let go. He fixed the hem of her dress and stepped away from her, looking just as much of a mess as she did.  
  
   
  
His expression was inscrutable. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Draco put a finger to it, to silence her. That's when she heard the footsteps coming up to the door of the wing.  
  
   
  
Before pulling completely away from her to sneak out a side door, he leaned in and bit her earlobe. What he said sent a rush of heat all the way down to her toes.  
  
   
  
“I'm not done with you, Granger. I haven't even started.”


	37. Fools

He didn't lie to her.  
  
  
At dinner, she felt the hairs on her arms shot up, a shiver ran down her spine. She didn't have to turn her head to know that he was looking at her.  
  
But after dinner, she looked for him, and he was already gone. She didn't want to admit it, but her heart sank just a little bit. But it also frightened her- she didn't know where he had gone. All she had to warn her were her arm hairs, and for reasons that don't need explaining, she didn't really consider that a reliable or logical warning system.  
  
Hermione cleaned her plate while absently nodding to something that Ron was saying. Harry and Ron were walking on eggshells around her- they don't know what happened and hadn't asked....yet. She knew that conversation was coming, but right now, she didn't care.  
  
Malfoy had stolen the Game from her. All of her hard work, down the happy little miserable drain. And then he made her want him. And then he kissed her.  
  
 _He_  kissed her.  
  
He kissed  _her._  
  
He  _kissed_  her.  
  
And she loved every second of it. She hated him for it. She hated him for the kiss, the game, the comb, the---  
  
Hermione slammed down her fork. “I've got to go,” she said, not even looking at Harry or Ron. She ignored them calling her name as she walked down the aisle to the doors of the Great Hall. She just needed some alone time. She needed to figure her emotions out.  
  
Hermione Granger was a mess. And where was her favorite place to go?  
  
Well, it seems that everyone knew the answer to that question.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
He was already waiting for her. When she turned the corner, he sunk back into shadow, following her lithe form.  
  
Ronald had to admit, Pansy had a  _great_  ass.  
  
He wasn't the stealthiest of wizards, but being in the game had taught him a trick or two.  
  
“I know you're there, Ronald.”  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
Without an ounce of shame, Ron stepped out of the shadows and into the hallway. “You're following me,” Pansy said, her eyes narrowed.  
  
“You're avoiding me,” Ron retorted. “Is there a particular reason?”  
  
“I'm not avoiding you.” She came up closer to him, and closer still until she could trail her finger down his chest, nail digging through the material of his garnet and gold sweater. “Which leaves the question, why are you,” her finger trailed up towards his neck..... “following me?”  
  
Ron swallowed the air in his lungs. Oh, man, he was out of his depth. “I was.... I was only...”  
  
“You were only, what, Ronald?” Pansy looked him straight in the eyes, her sultry knob turned on to the maximum.  
  
“I....I.....”  
  
He was so cute when he couldn't think. Pansy placed her hands on his shoulders, ever so gently, and then slammed him into the wall. “Here, let me help you get those words out of your mouth, hmm?”  
  
And she kissed him, Slytherin pride be damned.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione curled up to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, forgoing her usual niche at the library. She knew he'd be looking for her, and she knew she was being a coward, but being a Gryffindor didn't mean that she had to be brave all of the time.  
  
She was tired of all the looks and all the stares, and just wanted to curl up and lose her mind in a book.  
  
For some reason, though, the comforting pages of  _Hogwarts, A History_ didn't soothe her one bit. She just found herself staring absentmindedly at the dancing flames of the fire that were warming her cold toes. One of the house elves was cleaning some dust of the tables. After a few moments of trying to recall the creatures name, Hermione asked it for some hot chocolate, and a couple seconds later, she had her hands wrapped around the small cup, soaking in the warmth it had to offer.  
  
She was tired. Tired, and lonely, and confused, and so were all of her friends. She wished that they could just forget all about the games, but she knew that anything McGonagall did had a higher purpose. Just because she couldn't figure it out right now, didn't mean that she could just discredit and forget them.  
  
Sure, sword-fighting wasn't a useful skill, but Hermione couldn't be more grateful for the extra strength she now had. She felt muscles in places that she didn't know existed on her body. It was an alien feeling, but empowering, none-the-less.  
  
The feelings she had developed though, Hermione had no idea what to do with them. She had humiliated herself in front of the whole school, McGonagall thought she was a complete mess, the whole school thought she was a slobbering drunk, and Malfoy.....  
  
Malfoy.  
  
Her body instantly came to an awareness that still threw her.  
  
The energy coursing through her veins was unnatural. Was it love? Hermione doubted it. But it made her feel so alive in a way she had never felt before.  
  
Victor Krum had merely worshipped her- it was a form of an affection, and Hermione liked the attention. But she was never burning up for him, not like this.  
  
The way that his eyes pierced hers, the way his hands would splay at her waste, the way that he would bite her bottom lip, the way that he challenged her at every turn, his stupidly witty sarcasm, the way he---  
  
SLAM.  
  
The house elf in the room jumped into the air at the sound of Hermione slamming the useless book shut. Distracting herself when Draco was racing through her mind was impossible. She knew where he was waiting for her.  
  
She didn't now how she knew, but she did.  
  
She didn't know what she was going to say, but she would at least say something.  
  
She didn't know how he would react, but she knew he would listen.  
  
She didn't know how she knew, but she did.  
  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
   
  
Draco sat in the corner of the library. It had been hours already, and there was no sign of her. None at all.  
  
He sat next to a pile of books that he had been absentmindedly flipping through, not a word lodging in his brain.  
  
She was a fever, infecting his mind. He didn't understand why she said those things in the Great Hall. He didn't know why those words made him so angry, but they did. Especially after finding out how formidable she was in the Game.  
  
Two hours later, he stalked out of the Restricted section, furious. He'd catch her again, he had no doubt. She couldn't ignore him.  
  
He wouldn't let her.  
  
In his anger, he didn't even notice Hermione walking in the doorway as he was walking out until it was, naturally, too late. His shoulder slammed into hers so hard, he knew it was going to push her to floor.  
  
His reaction was instinctive. With his cat-like reflexes, he grabbed her arm and spun her around, using her momentum to crash his back to the ground instead of her body.  
  
“There you are.” He said, wincing slightly after his body smacked against the ground.  
  
Hermione tried to roll off of him, but his arms held her fast. He breathed in; she smelled like lemons and fire.  
  
“Let me go,” Hermione demanded, head on his chest.  
  
There was a moment of silence as they both denied the others body pressed up against their own.  
  
Draco tensed up for a moment. “I'll let you go, but only if you promise to tell me.”  
  
He didn't have to finish the thought. Hermione knew what he wanted to know. It was a silly demand, what would he do if she wouldn't tell him? Hold here there on the floor forever?  
  
What a silly thought. She might have just enjoyed that option.  
  
“I won't fight you.”  
  
Draco waited for just a moment after her statement; he was too tired of feeling so angry. He didn't want to be cheated. But he knew her, she wasn't going to sell him short. There was an explanation for everything, and he knew that she understood his thirst for knowledge because she had that same thirst.  
  
Hermione rolled out of his arms onto the floor. Draco jumped up onto his heels and after a moment's hesitation, offered her a hand up.  
  
Hermione took it, ignoring the flutter in her stomach that started at the touch of his fingers. “I don't have a knife on me, don't worry,” she half joked.  
  
The corner that lifted on his lip looked promising. He nodded his head in the direction of the restricted section. Hermione led the way.  
  
Once they were in the more intimate atmosphere of the older shelves and books alike, they found a table in the corner and sat down across from each other.  
  
Two people, both tired of fighting.  
  
They waited in silence, studying each other.  
  
Hermione took in the perfect lines of Draco's face. His grey eyes were shadowed by fatigue, his hair looked a little more unkempt than usual, but Hermione decided she liked it that way. It made him more human. “I can't tell you why I said the things I did in the Great Hall.”  
  
Draco studied her face. She looked a little pained, as if she wasn't supposed to say anything at all. He knew that face all too well from being raised in a house of Death Eaters. “Unbreakable Vow.”  
  
Hermione looked down. She couldn't say anything, her mouth felt like it was spelled shut.  
  
Draco only knew one person with the guts to do that during the games. “I'll talk to Pansy later, Granger, don't worry. I'll find out what it was all about.”  
  
“It's silly, really.” Hermione mumbled.  
  
“It's not. Not to me,” Draco replied, his voiced laced with a deadly kind of anger, causing Hermione's eyes to shoot up to his. They stared at each other for another moment. It was almost like his anger was seeping into her own veins.  
  
“Why do you even care, Malfoy. What does it even matter!” She hissed. “You've been playing your own game this WHOLE TIME, why does ANY of this even matter. You should just leave me ALONE!”  
  
  
Her voice rose above an angry whisper. “You should just leave me alone,” she repeated, her eyes glaring into his. But he didn't care. He wasn't about to let up. He wasn't done getting answers.  
  
“Were you really drunk?”  
  
Hermione didn't answer, keeping her mouth stubbornly shut.  
  
“Don't make me ask you again, Grang--”  
  
“No.” Her answer had flown out of her mouth before he even finished his sentence.  
  
The corner of his lip twitched upwards. “Knew it.” He leaned back.  
  
“No, you didn't.”  
  
Draco didn't refute her claim. He steepled his fingers and leaned forward. Their eyes were locked. His next question was completely unexpected.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
Silence. Nothing but cautious silence. Hermione didn't know what to do with it; she had no idea how to respond. So naturally, she bristled.  
  
“Why do you care?”  
  
And there it was. They got to the point without even trying.  
  
Draco shifted in his seat. He didn't know. He had no idea.  
  
After a moment, Hermione muttered something.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“Nothing,” she replied.  
  
“No. I want to hear it,” Draco demanded softly, albeit firmly. This was a different kind of battle, and not one he intended to lose, even though he didn't know what the outcome was going to be.  
  
“I know.” Hermione looked up at him. “Well, I don't, actually,” her eyes glanced down at her hands which were gripped together. “But I feel it.”  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “Feel what, exactly.”  
  
“Don't be absurd,” Hermione kept looking down at her hands. “I said I wouldn't fight you, but don't you da—”  
  
“Shh,” Draco put a hand up. He needed a second.  
  
Rocky territory with Granger, and not a sword insight. It wasn't like he could kill her this time.  
  
Hermione bristled a little bit. “I don't know what you want from me!” She threw her hands up in exasperation.  
  
And that was when Draco did something he learned to do in the Game. He played the offensive. He would take the attack.  
  
“I want you.”  
  
He let the words hang there for a moment – her eyes had shot up to catch his, surprise etched in ever fiber of her posture. The air got just a little hotter. Hermione didn't even realize that she had stopped breathing. What was going on.  
  
“What.”  
  
He had her attention, all right. “I don't mean just physically.” He cocked his head to the side, watching her intently. This was his moment. He controlled it. Why not shock her some more? “You're on my mind constantly. At some moment in the game, I realized I was obsessed not only with the idea of beating you, but also just with ….. you.”  
  
He was looking right through her. Hermione was stunned. Her mouth hung open just a little bit.  
  
“I wanted to get in your head, under your skin, reveal exactly who you were.” He leaned forward. “Maybe reveal isn't the right word. I wanted to expose you. I didn't know what I would find, but any time I would try to undermine you, you would outclass me every time. It drove me mad. It still does.”  
  
He left that thought hanging, he didn't know what else to do with it. “So, the only question remains, is what to do.”  
  
Hermione didn't move. Her eyes were a little too wide for their own good.  
  
“I could kill you.”  
  
She still didn't move. Ten seconds later, Draco looked down at his hand. “For Merlin's sake, Granger. Say something.”  
  
It took her another few seconds. “Excuse me?” She whispered, looking at him.  
  
Oh, she was angry. She didn't know why, but she was sure the explanation was about to come out of her mouth momentarily. “Excuse me!”  
  
Draco looked up at her, confused. “Wha--”  
  
“You kill me, you hate me, you undermine me, you steal the game from me, and then you tell me that you're obsessed with me? What the  _hell_ , Malfoy.” She stood up, glaring down at him. “I'm done playing games with you, Malfoy.  _Done_.” She sliced her hand through the air, making her point. She shook her head at him, so angry, so upset, she could barely contain it. And then she turned around to leave, but before she knew it, he hand also stood up, his hand grabbing her upper arm and spinner her around.  
  
His lips were hot on hers. He pulled her flush against him. He wasn't going to lose, not this time. She struggled, but only for a second. He kissed her until she was short on air. “We're not done here.”  
  
One of her hands had gotten free; it flashed up to slap him, but he caught it before she could. “Try again, I dare you.”  
  
Hermione glared at him, “What do you want, Malfoy,” She demanded, breathing heavily.  
  
After a moment of their heated stare, he parted his lips, “I don't know. But I'm not letting you walk away from me right now. Not until--”  
  
“Not until  _what_? What exactly do you want to know. What do you want to do. Because I'm tired of this, Malfoy. I'm  _tired_. Furthermore--”  
  
“I don't care if you're tired, Granger. I've been running you into the ground, and I don't plan on stopping now.”  
  
“You don't even know what you want--”  
  
“I want  _this_. Something from this. It's confusing, and I hate it, and part of me  _hates_ you, but my whole world has been turned upside down, and I'd be an absolute fool to ignore this. You would be a fool, Granger, to walk away from something like this.”  
  
“Something like _what_ , Draco?” She used his first name like a weapon. Oh, she was ready, she didn't care any more. “Something where ...... when you're mad at me, you just  _kill_  me? I like my life, thank you very much. And you know--”  
  
“Don't be absurd,” He stepped away from her. “Killing you isn't a viable option--”  
  
Hermione cocked her head in indignation. “You're ridiculous, Malfoy. I don't know what you possibly mean--”  
  
He had pushed her to this point. He just couldn't do it anymore. He didn't know what to say, but somehow the words flew out of his lips. “We'd be fools not to try.”  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes, instantly defensive. “Try _what_ , exactly.”  
  
“I don't know!” Draco threw his hands up into the air. “You think I have a plan?”  
  
“You always have a plan.”  
  
“I don't.”  
  
Hermione laughed, “Of course you do, you always do.”  
  
“I'm not that smart, Granger.” He looked away form her. “I don't know how else to tell you, I just don't want to walk away from this. It's intriguing, it's exciting. Maybe for the first time I've felt alive in a while was in that blasted game, and you were the reason. I don't know..... But you're tied to it, somehow. And maybe I'm just a little bit obsessed,” He whirled around, his hair becoming just a little disheveled, he looked like a feverish mess, “but I want to try.”  
  
Hermione crossed her arms. “Try _wha_ t, Draco.”  
  
He looked down at the floor, not so brave any more. “I don't  _know_.”  
  
She looked at the ceiling. There was nothing but silence around them, almost as if the books were listening in. No doubt some of them were, but that train of thought was the furthest from her mind. She sat back down, suddenly exhausted. “So what, you want to date?”  
  
“What?” Draco looked at her, his face going just a little bit pale.  
  
Hermione started giggling. Maybe she had gone mad. And then, in the strangest turn of events, a grin flashed onto Draco's face. His hand came up to cover his mouth. Maybe he had gone mad, too.  
  
“What?”  
  
Draco just shook his head, a strange mirth in his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”  
  
Hermione leaned back.  
  
He laughed out loud this time. “Oh, man. This is so ridiculous.”  
  
“What is?” Hermione asked, not really asking for an answer.  
  
He gave her one anyway. “We can strategize, we can sword fight to the death, but we can't deal with any kind of emotions--”  
  
“That's because you don't have any.”  
  
His anger flared up again, “ _Shut up_ , Granger. Don't spoil it.”  
  
“Spoil what?”  
  
Silence. A moment later.  
  
“Let's just try it.”  
  
“Try what,” Hermione asked again.  
  
“Let's..... see each other.”  
  
“One more time.”  
  
“Don't push it, Granger. I'll kill you.”  
  
Hermione snorted and looked away. “You're right.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“This is ridiculous. It won't work.”  
  
But Draco didn't really care for that opinion. He towered over her for a moment, looking down at her thoughtfully. “I dare you.” It was a soft dare. But a dare nonetheless. A dare that excited her. Damn, damn,  _damn._  
  
…........  
  
“You know this isn't going to wo--”  
  
Draco cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.  
  
Hermione crossed her arms. “And if it doesn't?”  
  
“Then it doesn't, but we'd be fools not to try.”  
  
“I can't believe that you're advocating this.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes for a moment. “Me neither, but I can't deny it. It's driving me crazy. Maybe it's selfish, but I just I don't care. ”  
  
And then she admitted to it. She couldn't help it. “Me, t--.” She couldn't finish the sentence. This would never work. This plan would never,  _ever,_ work. “Look. Malfoy. Let's be serious-”  
  
“I am being serious.”  
  
“But--”  
  
“Don't try to talk me out of it, Granger. Just stop while you're ahead.”  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her for what felt like the thousandth time in that hour. “Unless you seriously don't want to try. Unless I'm reading all of this wr--”  
  
“Shut up, Malfoy.” Hermione glared back. “We can try, but I can't guarantee any--”  
  
“I'm not asking you to do anything, Granger. Just _try_. I'm not going to ask again.”  
  
They stared at each other intently. Sometimes that was all that they could do. And then she laughed. “Becasue we'd be fools not to try.”  
  
“I don't know how to be nice,” Draco said quickly. “I don't know how to dote, or not to fight with you, or--”  
  
Hermione put her finger on his lips. “Don't talk me out of it. This is ridiculous, but don't. Who knows,” She lifted her finger, “Maybe we'll change our minds tomorrow.”  
  
And with that, she backed away from him. “See you tomorrow?”  
  
Draco was holding his breath. He didn't realize it until he breathed in at that moment. “Yeah. See you tomorrow, Granger.”  
  
He watched her walk out of the door; he would have heard her heart pounding if his own blood wasn't pumping so loudly though his hears.  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
He stared at the empty library room, running his hands down his face. “What the hell.”  
  
But they would be fools, if they didn't at least try...... whatever this was.  
  
What in the  _hell,_  indeed.


	38. Epilogue: Farewell My Friends

Five years have passed since Pirates and Nobles.  
  
It seemed so silly that one game this one year at Hogwarts could have caused so much commotion, so many feelings, so much chatter and shifts in personalities, but it changed the Wizarding World of England for the better, and it was blatantly obvious at the five year reunion.  
  
Hermione had organized it, of course, with the help of none other than Pansy Parkinson. They had decided to use manipulative diplomacy, using both their Slytherin and Gryffindor prowess to make sure that most everyone would come. If they could get along, so could every one else. Aside from their unending hatred for each other, they were civil, and treated one another with respect.  
  
The invitations had been spectacular ittle messages sealed in stained bottles with golden corks. When people got them, it was akin to getting their Hogwarts letters. No one would say no, and why should they? After all, they were all adults, and Pirates had been a great diversion from the post-war stricken world around them. Any hard feelings from the game had been treated competitiveness, not contempt. It was all quite pleasant.  
  
Intricately carved ships floated in the air, mingling with the young witches and wizards. The center piece was an interactive display of the Games, _Siramadra_  and the town settlement. Hermione had charmed it so that the major moments of the Game would play periodically.  
  
Susan Bones was frocked in a beautiful, floor length, maroon velvet dress. The Games had given the Hufflepuff a confidence that she never had, and it absolutely showed in the way that she carried herself. Thaddius and Blaise stood near it, talking, eyes glittering. It was obvious that there was still some tension between the two men, but it seemed content that they didn't mind.... sharing.  
  
Neville was, naturally, wearing his shiniest dance shoes for the occasion, and was waltzing with Cho Chang on the dance floor. Every now and then they would pass under one of the lights and an intense sparkle would come from Cho's left hand that was draped delicately over his shoulder...  
  
It turns out that Ginny and Harry didn't quite work out quite so well in the end. They lived together for a while. In fact, they had been engaged. The kick was that Ginny and Harry ended up in separate departments in the Ministry. They spent less and less time together, and they ended up exposing themselves to other people.  
  
Harry met an exciting french girl from Bouxbatons who he met during one of his missions as an Auror. They both managed to become friends after a while, though, and seemed to being doing just fine as they shared a piece of cake at one of the floating snack tables. Ginny, on the other hand, ended up marrying Theodore Knott. Why? No one really knew, but no one questioned her. They seemed in some kind of love, at least. However, looking at Harry and Ginny, someone might have thought that they were standing too close to each other....... but it didn't really matter. History is history, as are old friends.  
  
Pansy and Ronald actually ended up tying the knot. Despite the old rift between the Weasleys and the Parkinsons from the times of Voldemort, their wedding was truly a scandalous splash for the international Wizarding community. It went as far as to impact the Wizarding finance department, opening fiscal trade within the Wizard World that hand't been seen since before the First War.  
  
They were also expecting their second child. Oh, Pansy was still a bit feisty, but maternity looked beautiful on her. Rumour had it that she and Ronald were paying for their children to learn how to fence. For fun, of course.....  
  
He stood next to his glowing wife, hand possessively on her lower back. The fire, naturally, ran hot between these two. Enough about Pansy, though.  
  
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and Headmaster (that's right, Hogwarts now two masters) Severus Snape became cautious friends, working on some new potions and trying to invent spells together in their free time. Running the school was their main focus, however, they also enjoyed teaching their prospective classes during the day. They were both in attendance tonight. Severus was talking to a few of the graduated Slytherins, and Minerva, but of course, was talking to some of the other teachers who had shown up at the party. It wasn't amiss for her to greet the students as they passed by. She loved hearing what the young alumni had been up to after they finished Hogwarts; she liked to sometimes live vicariously though them. She was grateful to Hermione and Pansy for coming up with the idea to throw the party. It only served to remind her how genius the late Albus Dumbledore was. She had thought the idea was crazy, but now, watching the students from different houses, of different bloodlines mingle together in a friendly fashion, some even in love..... her opinion was quite the opposite. It was genius, and it worked.  
  
Mostly, she was proud of her students who allowed her to throw them into a ludcrious game. They went in fighting, and came out... .well, for the most part, peacefully. A few months after the Game, everything had settled down. She watched some romances flourish, and others die, but nothing more than usual drama between former students.... and yet the old animosity between houses was almost completely gone. Some grudges were hard washed away, but most of them no longer existed. Her eyes were caught by a flash of platinum blonde....  
  
The last five years did not shed much light on Hermione and Draco's relationship to each other. In fact, the Wizarding tabloids tried to follow them the most closely out of the “famous” witches and wizards, but they could rarely get any photographs or hard proof of anything. There were only hints of what could possibly be going on between them.  
  
Occasionally, Hermione and Draco would be spotted in a restaurant, or a high class gala, laughing together, sharing a few smiles, but never quite standing too close. She showed up to some of his Quidditch games at the Community Sports Club – a place where people would go just to play for fun. Draco followed his fathers legacy in the financial Wizarding world, and was quite good with playing the stock market. Recently, he had begun investing currency in the muggle stocks – news that was shocking to many people, and the tabloids reacted accordingly. However, with a strong supporters like Harry, Ronald, Pansy, Hermione, and some of the older generations, his market value only increased. Some tabloids speculated that the decision was influenced by none other than Hermione herself. But tabloids are tabloids- desperate for any link between two high profile people, so that they could spin some sort of barely supported romance to the public. The issue featuring this particular story had been one of the best selling units of that summer.  
  
Hermione followed her dreams, achieved equality (for the most part) for elves in the Wizarding world. She worked various jobs at the ministry in her spare time. She was on the reserve auror team, and often went on cases that called for her wits. A few years after graduating, she used her gravitas to revise and write several additional chapters for  _Hogwarts, a History_  to include topics of the Chamber of Secrets, the Sorcerer's Stone, the Tri-Wizard tournament that had been hosted by the school, and some details of the Last Battle and how Hogwarts had been involved. The latest edition of the book included a chapter on Pirates and Nobles- a case study which encouraged unity after a time of duress. Publicly, the Game was a smashing success. Several other Wizarding Schools in different nations had also made their own version of the Game for much of the same reasons after the 'results' of Pirates and Nobles had been published.  
  
On the weekends, though, Hermione spent most of her time in a library tucked in one of the nooks and crannies of Diagon Alley. A tabloid had spotted Draco getting coffee in the same place, but no strong connection could be made, other than two people sometimes frequented the same library- it wasn't too unusual.  
  
  
And here they were again, standing just a hint closer than usual, eyes glittering as they looked at the interactive map of  _Siramadra._  They talked animatedly about something, possibly a new business he was investing in, or a book that she was writing. She touched his arm in an almost intimate manner and nodded at something he said.  
  
Later in the night, after mingling with other people, Draco came up to her, put his hand on her waist – neither too high, no too low – and he offered her a ride home. Usually, the world saw her refuse, or say thank you, then politely decline because of some sort of plans she already had. But tonight was different.  
  
Tonight, she took it.


End file.
